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And then he told her oj the Albatross. 

Page 176 . 



'V 


LIBRARY of CONGRFSS 
Two Cooies Received 

JUN 18 1904 

, Cooyrifht Entry 

\)Xa^-i 0^1 0 4 ^ 

CLASS XXc. No. 

i ZO 

COPY B 




Copyright, 1904, by 
ALBERT A. HARTZELL. 



<. ( i i 


2f ^etiicate to 

9lltcta 

Volume 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 


And then he told her of the Albatross , Frontispiece. 

PAGE. 

“ Jim was kneelin’ by her with his face hid in 

her bosom” ..... 72 

He took her little form in his arms and 

hastened towards the club-housey . 203 

While the stars looked down into her upturned 
face. 


277 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

Chapter I. The signal of distress y . . 9 

Chapter II. The fatal decisiony . . 19 

Chapter III. A birth at seay ... 24 

Chapter IV. The overdue shipy . . 29 

Chapter V. The Albatross in porty . . 39 

Chapter VI. Dr. Reide's prophecy y . 49 

Chapter VII. The drive to Portsmouthy . 59 

Chapter VIII. Silas^ narrative y . . 67 

Chapter IX. Mr. Hale at the home of the 

PendletonSy 82 

Chapter X. John Lakeley^s daughter y . 95 

Chapter XI. College daySy . 106 

Chapter XII. Ralph's ship comes sailing 

homey 121 

Chapter XIII. The destruction of the milly 131 
Chapter XIV. Silas goes a courtin' y . 137 

Chapter XV. The boat racey . . . 151 


CONTENTS 


PAGE. 

Chapter XVI. Alicia, . . . . 169 

Chapter XVII. On the golf links, . . 184 

Chapter XVIII. Beneath the elms of old 

Yale once more, 200 

Chapter XIX. The Queen of the Roses, . 208 

Chapter XX. The Wand of War. . . 219 

Chapter XXL Driven from home, . 230 

Chapter XXII. Luthiers appeal, . . 245 

Chapter XXIII. Luthiers midnight visit, 250 

Chapter XXIV. The tragedy of the den, . 254 

Chapter XXV. The mystery of the night, . 261 
Chapter XXVI. The prophecy recalled, 266 
Chapter XXVII. The Closing Scene, . 272 


ALICIA 


CHAPTER I. 

THE SIGNAL OF DISTRESS. 

The good ship Albatross lay becalmed. Not 
a breath of wind was stirring to move the sails 
that hung idly from mast and spar. Every bit 
of canvas of which she could boast was spread, 
but the ship lay upon the glassy surface of the 
sea without motion or life. The ocean, still as 
a mill pond, stretched away to the horizon. The 
vision ranged the limitless waste of waters, 
unrewarded. No thing was in sight. 

Upon the vessel, beneath the towering pile of 
canvas, all was still. The wheelmen stood idly 
by the wheel. Forward, a group of sailors talked 
in low tones. Upon the forward deck, leaning 
against the arm of a monstrous anchor, was a 
lookout — but his constant gaze saw nothing save 
the expanse of sky and sea. Aloft, another sailor 
swept the sea with wide-ranging glass. 

Upon the deck near the wheel stood the captain 
of the ship. He was a man of impressive physique 
— tall, robust, with limbs cast in generous mold, — 
with a large head whose heavy locks shadowed 


10 


ALICIA 


with their blackness a resolute, calm face; a face 
that was good to look upon ; a face that once you 
saw, you remembered. He had a broad fore- 
head from which the heavy locks seemed care- 
lessly pushed away; a firm chin, with resolute 
lips shaded by the heavy moustache; grey eyes, 
full and bright, with a flash of fire in their depths; 
— thus stood Captain Philip Pendleton on the 
morning of the first day of May, in the year 
eighteen hundred and sixty-four, upon the good 
ship Albatross y becalmed at sea, homeward 
bound for the port of Portsmouth, on the Maine 
coast. 

Several pennants of bright colors bearing 
numerals hung from the signal halliards at which 
the captain frequently cast anxious glances. 
These bits of bunting also suffered from the 
blight of the calm, and hung limp and lifeless. 
Suddenly the lookout from aloft called out to the 
deck below. Instantly the captain sprang with 
glass in hand into the shrouds, and following the 
directing voice of the sailor aloft, he raised his 
glass and steadily watched a dot on the horizon. 
He could make nothing of it. An half hour ago 
when the glass swept the horizon it viewed nothing, 
but now as the sailor looked, this small black dot 
seemed to have grown up from the sea. There 
was nothing to do but wait. 


THE SIGNAL OF DISTRESS 


11 


The captain paced anxiously to and fro. 
Occasionally he left the deck and disappeared 
into the open door of the cabin. The sailors, 
gathered at the side of the vessel, looked in vain 
for sight of the distant object, waiting patiently 
until the heavy minutes should bring it within 
range of the naked eye. Time passed. Minutes 
grew into hours. Again and again the captain 
placed his glass upon the speck and witnessed 
its widening scope with joy. Slowly it came into 
view as time swept on; and it needed not the 
confirming shout of Caleb Carruthers, the lookout 
aloft, the keenest-eyed seaman on the New 
England coast, to announce to Captain Pendleton 
that a large steamer was slowly coming into view, 
and passing far to the southward. 

The trans- Atlantic steamer United States under 
heavy pressure of steam was striving to make up 
lost time occasioned by a broken shaft. Im- 
portant government dispatches entrusted to the 
care of her commander, Captain James Arthur, 
for delivery upon her arrival at New York, placed 
upon him a burden of responsibility that now 
pressed heavily upon him. His vessel had cleared 
from a French port some days previous, and just 
before sailing, sealed messages for the war depart- 
ment had been entrusted to him in greatest con- 
fidence, with instructions for their delivery at the 


12 


ALICIA 


earliest possible moment. The civil war now 
had reached its third year. American commerce 
had almost been swept from the sea. Privateers- 
men, fitted in foreign ports, had preyed upon the 
merchantmen, until, with the exception of a few 
swift, bold ships, the American flag was unseen 
on the waters of the Atlantic. The formidable 
craft the Alabama had wrought much havoc and 
ruin, and no American sailor slept easy now that 
she roamed the sea. That his dispatches related 
to this iron-clad sea monster. Captain Arthur had 
no doubt, and the delay occasioned in his mind 
the greatest uneasiness because of the importance 
of his commission. With repairs fully made he 
was now forging ahead through the smooth 
waters at almost full speed. 

The past few days had been ones of unusual 
calm, and now as he stood on the bridge, not a 
ripple disturbed the smooth surface of the sea 
until broken by the prow of his swiftly-moving 
steamer. The passengers, relieved from the 
ennui attending the delay, welcomed the increased 
speed of the vessel, and, gathered about the decks, 
passed the time away engaged in various diver- 
sions usual to the trans-Atlantic voyage. Aside 
from the broken shaft, the trip had been without 
incident or circumstance of unusual interest. 
Now that the vessel was speeding homeward once 


THE SIGNAL OF DISTRESS 


13 


more, thoughts and conversation bore most fre- 
quently upon the theme of home. No vessel had 
brought them news of home or the outside world. 
No sail had been sighted since they sailed from 
the coast of France. Day in and day out they 
had looked in vain for sight of a distant or passing 
ship. 

Captain Arthur had borne the delay caused by 
the accident to his vessel with a philosophy 
natural to him. A long life at sea, amidst storm 
and calm, amidst trials, dangers, and privations, 
had created in him a sense of philosophical 
courage that often stood him in good need. 
He had early learned the truth of the proverb 
that “what can’t be cured must be endured.” 
And he had not only accepted such decree with 
becoming cheerfulness in all cases, but generally 
strove to add a bit of seemingly paradoxical 
wisdom of his own to relieve the situation, by 
reflecting that what once has been endured can 
still sometimes be cured. And with this view 
steadily in mind, he was half-hourly receiving 
reports of the steam gauge from the engine room, 
as he forced the vessel to her utmost in a race to 
overtake the two days that were gone. 

A long wing of foam broke from the vessel on 
either side, as she rushed through the water, 
stretched out like the two wings of a gigantic 


14 


ALICIA 


swan. The dancing wake glowed with the 
radiant light of topaz and diamond fire. It was 
a beautiful day. The sun was mounting towards 
the zenith. The air was calm and still, and the 
sea was yet unruffled by the slightest breeze. 
Suddenly there was a cry from the watchman 
posted high above the wheelhouse; and by that 
swift intercommunication that prevails upon 
vessels of her class, not only the commander, but 
every person aboard, both sailor and passenger, 
at once became acquainted with the news that a 
sail had been sighted on the north quarter, hull 
down in the distance. 

The first officer joined Captain Arthur on the 
bridge. Long and intently they looked at the 
stranger with their powerful sea glasses. She 
was still too far distant to be made out. The 
steamer ploughed swiftly onward. The miles 
and leagues of dancing water flowed swiftly 
underneath her keel like a monstrous mill-race. 
The passengers and crew watched the speck that 
was the distant sail with increasing interest. 
The steamer’s course was gradually bringing her 
into a range of discernment. The day wore on. 
The attention of all was given to the strange vessel. 

“Can you make her out?” asked Captain 
Arthur of his first officer, as they stood upon the 
bridge of the swiftly flying steamer. 


THE SIGNAL OF DISTRESS 


15 


“Hardly, sir,” he replied. “She’s under can- 
vas all right, but she’s still too distant.” 

Another hour passed. The stranger was 
gradually coming into view by aid of the power- 
ful glasses. To the naked eye she was but a 
speck in the distance. 

“Now I get her. Captain,” said the first officer, 
addressing Captain Arthur, as once more he 
levelled his glass at the vessel in the distance. 

“She is evidently a large vessel, for she seems 
to have plenty of canvas. I think I can make 
out her yards.” 

“Do you think she is a man-o’-war?” asked 
the captain. 

“I can’t tell yet, sir,” replied the officer. 

It was not long ere a still better view of the 
stranger was afforded those who so eagerly 
watched her. 

“I can make her out better now, sir,” said Mr. 
Walker, the first officer, again addressing Captain 
Arthur. 

“She is a full rigged ship with a cloud of canvas 
set.” 

“Does she show any colors ?” asked the captain. 

“I cannot tell, sir,” the officer replied. “She’s 
a Yankee all right, I think.” 

“Show them a bit of color,” commanded the 
captain. “Run up the ensign.” 


16 


ALICIA 


In a few moments a round ball of bunting was 
swiftly travelling upward by the color halliards, 
and the next moment the Stars and Stripes floated 
from the masthead. A fervent cheer rose from 
the deck as the upward gaze of passengers and 
crew were greeted by sight of the familiar beloved 
flag in that distant sea. 

“Now she answers,” exclaimed the officer. 

The captain levelled his glass at the stranger. 

“Look, Mr. Walker,” he exclaimed excitedly, 
“She’s got the American flag flying at her mast- 
head, with the Union down. She’s in distress.” 

“She’s flying signals, too,” the officer quickly 
replied, after a steady and long observation. 

“The signal book,” he commanded, and in- 
stantly the signal code was brought and spread 
out upon the rail. 

“Can you read them, Mr. Walker ?” asked the 
captain as he watched the distant ship. 

“No, sir, not yet. I can see that she has no 
port holes, and carries no guns. She is one of 
our large American clipper ships — only a few of 
which are left now since the war,” he added. 

“All ready for the signals,” he said suddenly. 

“A light breeze moves her topsails and her 
signal flags are stretching out. J can see them 
more plainly now. Take them down as I 
read.” 


THE SIGNAL OF DISTRESS 


17 


Slowly and painstakingly the first oflBcer ob- 
served the feebly fluttering signal flags and pro- 
nounced the characters they bore upon their 
folds, which were taken down by a junior officer 
with book and pencil, as the words fell slowly 
from Mr. Walker’s lips. 

“Let me repeat, to see if I have it accurately,” 
said Mr. Walker, when he had finished. 

Again he recited the numerals of the signal flags. 

“Is that correct?” he asked. 

“That is correct, sir,” was the reply. 

Meanwhile the passengers had gathered near 
the bridge upon the deck below. All interest 
was centered in the message of the strange ship. 
Intently they listened to the conversation of the 
officers. 

“Here is the signal code, Mr. Walker,” said the 
captain. “Read the message.” 

Mr. Walker took the book and turned its pages 
as he sought out the definitions of the various 
characters that composed the message. Rapidly 
he placed the words, as quickly as learned, upon 
paper. Soon he dropped his pencil, while a look 
of excitement spread over his face. He had 
completed the message. Without a word he 
handed the slip of paper upon which he had 
written to Captain Arthur, who read it with a 
look of apprehension and anxiety. 


2 


18 


ALICIA 


Glancing towards the group of expectant pas- 
sengers he said, “This is the message.’^ And 
reading from the paper he spoke the words that 
thrilled the group below: — 

“Send a Physician — Help!’* 


THE FATAL DECISION 


19 


CHAPTER II. 

THE FATAL DECISION. 

As the import of the message fell upon the 
hearers they with one accord turned towards one 
of their number who now stood with gaze fixed 
intently upon Captain Arthur. He was a young 
man, who had already attained a reputation, and 
one which was well deserved, as a physician and 
surgeon. Born and bred in the city of New York, 
as a boy he showed a precocity and natural bent 
towards the studies that were to afterwards 
engross him in a long professional career, that 
early indicated the inheritance of qualities and 
tastes from a parent who for half a century had 
been a noted physician of New York, and whose 
fame, by reason of his skill, had made him widely 
known and respected. 

Graduated from Columbia College at an early 
age, and from the medical schools of this country 
with honor, after a diligent course abroad Dr. 
Hamilton Reide had commenced the practice of 
his profession with his father in New York, with 
gratifying success. During his study in France 
he had met and become enamored of the lady 


20 


ALICIA 


now his wife, who was sojourning among relatives 
during an absence from her home in Louisiana. 
Her ancestors had originally been people of 
France, and settling in Louisiana at an early 
period, their descendents had become the fore- 
most figures of that section, and always power- 
fully identified with the political interests of the 
state. 

She was a lady of singular beauty and accom- 
plishments. Although a man of Northern birth 
and sentiments and naturally differing from his 
wife on important political questions of the day, 
in the ardor of his passion and the completeness 
of his devotion Dr. Reide permitted no discord 
to enter his Eden, but surrendered himself to the 
perfect happiness he found in the society of one 
so beautiful in mind and person as to well merit 
the title of the fairest flower of the South. 

A short time previous an infant daughter had 
been born to them, and his wife’s life being 
despaired of. Dr. Reide, though plunged into an 
abyss of grief and dejection, had by his devoted 
skill and care so far accomplished her recovery 
as to permit of the beneficial sea voyage now 
nearing completion. The child seemed to have 
inherited much of the beauty and disposition of 
the mother, at least so it seemed to Dr. Reide, 
who now found that the allegiance he had always 


THE FATAL DECISION 


21 


given so passionately to his wife had just as 
strongly been compelled by this tiny beauty, 
who had crept into his heart unawares. 

As Dr. Reide heard the message from the 
distant vessel fall from the captain’s lips, and 
saw the gaze of the expectant passengers bent 
intently upon him, a strange emotion seemed to 
stifle, for a moment, all power of speech. Con- 
trolling himself he said to Captain Arthur, “Will 
you put me aboard that ship. Captain 

Captain Arthur hesitated. He was struggling 
with conflicting emotions. His natural sym- 
pathy and humanity prompted him to immedi- 
ately comply with the request of the vessel and 
send Dr. Reide to its aid. On the other hand, 
he felt most strongly the danger of delay because 
of the dispatches intrusted to his care. Every 
moment was precious and freighted with danger 
to the interests of the government, he felt, and 
perhaps to the very life of the nation itself. He 
was a man who was imbued with a fervent love 
of country and also with a high sense of duty. 
His principal and also his patriotism as a first 
impression impelled him to give no heed to the 
imploring voice of the stranger, but the natural 
inclination of the heart bade him proceed im- 
mediately to his assistance. It was a rule of the 
sea, long familiar to him from a life of service 


22 


ALICIA 


upon the waters, which declared it to be the duty 
of one vessel to render every assistance possible 
to another in distress. He knew that his honor 
as a sailor permitted no infraction of this rule; 
the law of the sea, and of humanity as well, 
required its full observance. He felt keenly the 
distress of his position. Although a man of iron 
nerve, he was shaken by the conflict that raged 
within his breast. The passengers were watch- 
ing him breathlessly. Slowly he yielded to the 
habits and teachings of a lifetime. Slowly the 
full tide of humanity, gathering force as it moved, 
swept irresistibly through his heart, carrying 
before it every vestige of doubt and hesitation. 

Turning to Dr. Reide, he replied, ‘T will put 
you aboard, sir. Make your preparations and 
be ready to go when we are within distance.” 

“Call away the gig,” the captain added, ad- 
dressing his first officer. “You may accompany 
him, Mr. Walker, and take my boat. Answer 
the message,” the captain commanded to the 
junior officer who stood near with the signal book 
still in his hand. “Answer that we will send 
physician, and will stand by them.” A quick 
command to the wheelmen, and the bow of the 
steamer swung to the northward. The flutter- 
ing signals went aloft. Dr. Reide immediately 
engaged himself in his preparations for de- 


THE FATAL DECISION 


23 


parture. The gig was made ready. The steamer 
steamed swiftly towards the ship, upon which all 
eyes were fixed with rapt attention. 

Captain Arthur stood upon the bridge alone. 
His gaze was fixed upon the distant vessel. Could 
his vision have pierced the future he would have 
been astounded at the decree of fate which had 
made the romance and tragedy, the mystery and 
death, of future years dependent upon his decision 
which he had just rendered, and which now gave 
him a feeling of satisfaction, as he muttered to 
himself, as his vessel sped onward, “God forbid 
that I should ever fail to heed a signal of distress.** 


24 


ALICIA 


CHAPTER III. 

A BIRTH AT SEA. 

On board the Albatross the fear that the 
steamer discovered to the southward, bearing on 
her course, would pass at too great a distance for 
the observation of the signal flags, occasioned 
Captain Pendleton extreme anxiety. The flags, 
mingled with the drooping canvas, needed the 
sustaining breeze to render them fully effective. 
The first mate of the Albatross had joined Cap- 
tain Pendleton, and as they watched the steamer 
through their glasses she seemed to be gradually 
drawing nearer to the ship. At last Captain 
Pendleton saw the American flag break from her 
masthead, and it soon became apparent to him 
as he watched her that she raised her colors to 
salute in passing, and he saw that in a few minutes 
she would be gone, and his signals unobserved 
by the steamer. In desperation he ran to the 
color locker and hastily seizing the ship’s national 
ensign, he soon had it raised to the maintop of 
the Albatross. 

“They are my countrymen,” he said. “They 
will help me if they see my signals.” 


A BIRTH AT SEA 


25 


The flag was of immense size as becomes a full 
rigged ship of the class of the Albatross and had 
been donated to the vessel by the citizens of Ports- 
mouth upon the occasion of her first voyage. 
Not only was such presentation in honor of having 
this splendid clipper ship hail from their home 
port, but was also intended by the donors to 
indicate the respect and affection borne for 
Captain Pendleton by the citizens of the com- 
munity in which he and his forefathers had dwelt 
for more than a century. 

As the flag went to the masthead, a slight 
breeze ruffled the topsails and animated slightly 
the drooping bunting. The eager eye of Captain 
Pendleton noted this good sign with gladness. 
But his hand trembled as once more he raised 
his glass to his eye. The steamer held to her 
course. She was evidently gradually sinking 
into the horizon. A feeling of despair chilled 
the brave heart of the sailor. “My God, help 
me,” he murmured. His prayer was answered 
even as his lips spoke, for he heard the lookout 
shout in exultation. 

“She answers. Captain! Look, she answers!” 

The captain’s eyes filled with tears. 

“She’s bearing towards us,” were the next glad 
tidings the captain heard, and sending for his 
book he carefully translated the answer of the 


26 


ALICIA 


steamer. His heart beat with thankfulness as he 
translated the bits of bunting, and read, 

“Will send physician and stand by.’’ 

Immediately he left the deck and once more 
disappeared within the cabin. After a short 
time he returned and took his station on the deck. 
The steamer was approaching rapidly. From 
the Albatross they could make her out now quite 
plainly. They observed the passengers and 
sailors grouped at the rail and upon the decks, 
with eyes fixed upon the Albatross. They saw 
the captain upon the bridge. They saw, too, a 
small boat at the davits, and the crew standing 
there ready and motionless. And a little apart 
from them they saw a man in whom all interest 
was centered. Then they saw the steamer sud- 
denly slow down a short distance from them; 
the boat was lowered, and with rhythmic pre- 
cision the oars rose and fell as the trained seamen 
sent the light craft towards the ship. 

Captain Pendleton and his ofiicers stood at the 
side of the ship to receive the boat, which soon 
came alongside the Albatross. A moment later 
Dr. Reide, hat in hand, stood upon the deck of 
the ship. Captain Pendleton, with outstretched 
hand, greeted him. 

“I am Captain Pendleton, of the American ship 
Albatross/' he said, grasping the hand of the visitor. 


A BIRTH AT SEA 


27 


“I am Dr. Reide of New York, and at your 
service. Captain.” Captain Arthur, of the 
steamer United States , bids me say to you that 
he sends me in answer to your request, and that 
he will stand by you. But, Captain, I will not 
delay. What is the matter ? What sickness have 
you on board? Show me to my patient.” 

Captain Pendleton answered, “Dr. Reide, my 
wife is aboard the ship, and is very, very ill. I 
will take you to her immediately. She has been 
accustomed to accompany me upon my voyages. 
It has been very lonely for her to remain ashore 
alone while I was at sea. We have had no 
children to bless us, and beguile her solitude in 
my absence, but now — .” The captain’s voice 
faltered, and he looked into the face of the physi- 
cian, who, understanding, motioned towards the 
cabin and said gently, “Take me to her.” 

The breeze had freshened with the disappearing 
day, and had wafted light clouds from the horizon 
in its coming. The sun was setting in the sea, 
and soon 

“Night like a sable bird, 

Shook darkness from her wings on ocean wild; 

Without a whispered word. 

The stars peered through the clouds in grandeur 
piled. ” 


28 


ALICIA 


Lights on the vessels showed their respective 
positions during the night and at daybreak a 
signal flying from the Albatross announced to 
those on board the steamer that a son had been 
born to Captain and Mrs. Pendleton, who was to 
bear the name of Arthur Reide Pendleton. 


THE OVERDUE SHIP 


29 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE OVERDUE SHIP. 

It was Sunday morning in the village of Ports- 
mouth. The bell in the belfry of the white- 
steepled meeting-house on the side-hill had 
ceased ringing. It was approaching the hour for 
the morning service and the people of the village, 
attired in their best clothes, were slowly wending 
their way along the streets of the village to the 
little white church on the hill-side. The old and 
young, the latter with demure looks as became 
the day and ill at ease in their unaccustomed 
attire and under the reproving eye of the elders, 
moved forward with hastening step as the notes 
of the second bell sounded from the steeple. 
Those who had lingered on the broad front steps 
of the meeting-house to exchange subdued greet- 
ings with friends and neighbors now moved 
slowly into the building and gathered in their 
accustomed places in the straight-backed pews 
with small white panelled doors opening into 
the main aisle of the church. The deep maroon 
cushions, faded with age, relieved in some degree 
the barrenness of the room into which the 


30 


ALICIA 


people were beginning now to enter in goodly 
numbers. 

Rambling off from the main street of the vil- 
lage at a point near the church was a picturesque 
lane which wandered down towards the bay, 
losing itself at last in a maze of small boats pulled 
up on the land out of reach of the sea, and numer- 
ous seines spread out on the sands to dry. A 
small cottage, with a lusty red rose climbing over 
the doorway and ambitiously reaching its pretty 
blossoms up to the little latticed window beneath 
the eaves, flanked the lane at the corner near the 
church. From behind a weather-beaten picket 
fence which enclosed the cottage, a small lad 
with bare feet and ragged cap had studiously 
watched the church-goers as they passed on to 
the meeting-house. He had busied himself by 
bestowing upon youthful companions divers 
looks that expressed silently, though forcibly, his 
own gratiflcation, and at the same time com- 
miserated the plight of his less fortunate com- 
panions. Following, at some distance away, the 
last of the village train to the church, he arrived 
at the steps as the notes of the organ announced 
the commencement of the service. Peering 
cautiously in at the open door he encountered 
the reproving looks and frowning glance of the 
good deacon who numbered among his duties 


THE OVERDUE SHIP 


31 


not only the task of maintaining order among the 
restless lads within the meeting-house, but also 
of shielding them from the example and repelling 
the advances of the ungodly from without. The 
lad, replying to the good man’s reproving looks 
and jestures of admonition with numerous 
deliberate winks delivered in rapid succession, 
betook himself to the cottage which rested 
quietly among the hollyhocks and brier roses 
that grew profusely, with many an old-fashioned 
flower, within the enclosure. 

Lifting the latch of the gate he passed in and 
made his way up the winding gravelled walk 
with its border of green box, to the vine clad 
porch, where was seated a fair-faced little girl 
several years his junior. She raised her eyes 
from the book in her lap as she heard the sound 
of his footsteps upon the gravel. 

‘Ts that you, Ralph?” she asked as he ap- 
proached. ‘T wondered where you were. I 
hope you have not been outside the gate this 
Sunday morning with such a ragged cap — and 
bare feet, too,” she added. 

“You know how displeased grandma will be, 
and it was only yesterday that you promised that 
you would be very careful not to make her un- 
happy,” she said. 

The boy’s manner softened as his eyes first 


32 


ALICIA 


observed her, and he listened wistfully as she 
addressed him. 

“Don’t tell, and worry grandma, Luthie,” 
he said mischievously. “I only went to the 
church,” he added innocently; but as he looked 
into her sweet, grave face he looked more serious 
and felt an inward misgiving as he recalled his 
conduct at the door of the meeting-house in his 
encounter with the deacon. “I will wear my 
shoes and my best hat, too,” he continued, stoutly 
facing the ordeal with the bravery expected of a 
man of his ten years. “I forgot them this morn- 
ing. I am going to the lighthouse and I stopped 
to see if you would not come with me. Captain 
Gray will be at the church, but he lets me use his 
glass and the door is never locked, you know. 
I like to look out over the sea and watch the fleet; 
and O, Luthie, I wish you could see them come 
scurrying in with a great storm breaking and the 
white waves leaping up till they seem to break 
their foam over the black clouds that the top- 
sails almost touch,” said the lad enthusiastically. 

“O, no, Ralph; I could not bear the sight of 
the poor boats fleeing before the dreadful storm,” 
said Luthie with a shudder. “I cannot sleep 
when I hear the wind at night; and when the 
storm beats against my window I cannot rest 
until I kneel and pray to God to spare the ships 


THE OVERDUE SHIP 


33 


that are on the sea; and I am so thankful when 
the morning comes and I see the sunlight falling 
across my bed.” 

“I am going to be a sailor when I am a man,” 
said the boy proudly. “I shall have a ship of 
my own, and I shall name her the Lady Luthie.” 

The young girl answered seriously, ‘T would 
not name her after the old ship, Ralph.” 

‘T shall not,” said the boy. “You are the Lady 
Luthie — I shall name her after you.” 

The little girl’s eyes gleamed with a pleased 
smile, but she shook her head and said, “It will 
not do, Ralph. It is still the name of the old ship; 
the name of the ship that’s lost.” 

“Luthie,” said the boy suddenly, dropping his 
voice to a low tone, “do you know that everybody 
is talking about the Albatross. You cannot hear 
anything else all day long. Captain Phil should 
have been home over three months ago. Cap- 
tain Gray says that if it were any other ship than 
the Albatross and any other master than Captain 
Phil, he would be worried — worried somewhat, 
that’s what he said.” 

“Yes,” answered the grave-faced girl, solemnly. 
“The minister put the Albatross in his prayer 
last Sunday. Mrs. Gray told me so. Grandma 
and I sat with her for awhile yesterday. Mrs. 
Pendleton has been away so long from home 


34 


ALICIA 


that poor Mrs. Gray feels very lonely in that 
great house. She has had a fire lighted in Mrs. 
Pendleton’s room every night for niany weeks, 
fearing the chill of the evening fog, ready for 
her coming. She and grandma cried last night, 
and when I saw them cry, I cried, too.” 

Ralph replied slowly, “I hear the men on the 
beach talk about the Albatross in the morning 
when the boats go out, and in the evening when 
the boats come in. They talk about the Albatross 
and Captain Phil all the time. Captain Gray 
hasn’t told me a story for so long a time. He sits 
all day in the lamp room by the sea window, or 
stands on the balcony, and looks through the 
glass. Last evening when I went into the store 
the men were talking about Captain Phil and I 
saw Captain Gray there, and I said, ‘Captain, do 
you think the Albatross is lost?’ but he didn’t 
seem to hear me, although I was standing right 
next to him, for he didn’t answer.” 

The boy paused and Luthie answered cheer- 
fully, ‘T had a dream last night, Ralph, and I 
have been thinking about it all day. I dreamed 
that I saw the Albatross come sailing home. It 
was on just such a morning as this. I recall the 
sun shining brightly on the water as I watched her. 
It has made me feel so happy, for it seems almost 
a reality to me. I wonder if dreams come true.” 


THE OVERDUE SHIP 


35 


“I hope so, Luthie,” said the boy, and then 
added despondently, “the teacher said the other 
day that dreams went by contraries.” 

“Come, Ralph,” said the girl cheerily, “grand- 
ma wants me to walk on the beach each day until 
I am stronger. If you are going to the lighthouse 
I will go with you. Wait until I run in and get 
my hat, and tell grandma I am going with you.” 
Rising from the porch, she entered the cottage and 
returning in a few moments with a broad-brimmed 
hat shading her pretty, grave face, she joined 
Ralph and together they walked down the lane 
towards the beach. 

Portsmouth looks out across the open sea over 
a snug little harbor which is protected by a long, 
narrow strip of land that projects out from the 
westerly side of the village and shields by this 
natural arm the entire beach fronting the main 
part of the town. Towards the easterly end of the 
village where the dwellings diminish into a few 
straggling houses and far removed from the water, 
except a few venturesome fishermen’s cottages, 
the beach is unprotected and the surf rolls undis- 
turbed with deep intonation. Upon the extreme 
point of the protecting strip of land, and at the 
entrance to the harbor, stands the lighthouse, 
access to which is over a rude roadway along the 
projecting narrow bit of ground. 


36 


ALICIA 


Towards this point Ralph and Luthie made 
their way in leisurely fashion, enjoying the beauties 
of the morning as they went. Their young souls 
drank in deeply the freshness and sweetness of 
the hour. Reaching the lighthouse, they climbed 
the narrow, circling iron stairway to the room at 
the top. It was enclosed with glass on all sides. 
In the center of the room was a table upon which 
lay a large marine glass and several maps and 
books. Taking the glass from the table the boy 
opened a door in the side of the room facing the 
water and with Luthie stepped out onto the 
balcony which, enclosed by an iron railing, over- 
looked the sea. Out on the ocean they could see 
the sails of a vessel coming to view through the 
dispersing fog. Ralph raised his glass and 
looked at her. 

“Luthie,” he exclaimed, “there is ih.Q Albatross r 

“O, Ralph,” she eagerly answered, “are you 
certain ?” 

“Yes,” said Ralph slowly, “she is three-masted, 
and has all her masts square-rigged. I can count 
her six jibs. The Undine has only four jibs, and 
the Three Sisters has no yards on her mizzen- 
mast. Besides, I can see her flag at the maintop. 
Captain Phil always has his flag at the maintop 
when he comes in. It is the Albatross — sure, 
Luthie. Captain Phil must be in a hurry to get 


THE OVERDUE SHIP 


37 


home — he’s got all her canvas set. Look at her, 
Luthie, she’s the finest ship on the coast.” 

He handed the glass to the girl, who placed it to 
her eye and gave a little cry of delight. “O, Ralph, 
how near she is ! I can see her so plainly. How 
fast she is sailing! See the white foam dash up 
at her bow! How beautiful she is! I shall be so 
happy to see dear Mrs. Pendleton. Let us 
hasten, Ralph, and tell Mrs. Gray.” 

‘H will go with you to Mrs. Gray’s,” said Ralph, 
“and then I will go and meet Captain Gray as 
he comes from church.” 

Hastening to the Pendleton home Ralph left 
Luthie to make the announcement to Mrs. Gray, 
and then set out at the top of his speed for the 
church. 

Arriving there he took a seat upon a chair in 
the vestibule near the open door. The deep 
earnest tones of the clergyman’s voice came to 
his ear distinctly. The boy recognized the 
solemn invocation of prayer. Even to his boyish 
senses it was clear that the voice bravely held 
forth a hope in the last extremities of hopelessness. 
He remembered what Luthie had told him about 
the minister praying for the safe return of the 
Albatross. He looked in at the doorway. He 
saw the men with bowed heads, and women 
weeping. He saw Captain Gray in his accus- 


38 


ALICIA 


tomed corner. The stout sailor’s head rested 
upon his arm. Moved by the scene, the lad 
forgot all else but the important news swelling 
in his heart, and running in at the doorway, 
unheeding the horrified look of the good deacon 
who attempted to restrain him, he shouted, 
“Captain Phil’s coming! Captain Phil’s com- 
ing!” Instinctively the clergyman glanced from 
his high pulpit towards the open window that 
faced the sea, and as he looked, there swept for 
an instant across his vision the beautiful sight of 
a full-rigged ship with bellying sail and flying 
flag. His heart leaped in his breast at the sight, 
and involuntarily, like a flash, his long arm pointed 
to the sea, and he exclaimed with a voice that 
was a prayer in its thankfulness and reverence, 
“The Albatross! The Albatross!” 


THE ALBATROSS IN PORT 


39 


CHAPTER V. 

THE ALBATROSS IN PORT. 

The arrival of the Albatross with Captain and 
Mrs. Pendleton with baby Arthur had created 
much excitement, and their joy at the home- 
coming was only equalled by the happiness and 
interest of the community itself. The story had 
been told again and again. It had swiftly sped 
out from the village to nearby towns and it soon 
became the absorbing topic of interest for miles 
around. The strained feelings of the great host 
of friends and acquaintances of the Pendletons 
relaxed. The latter kept open house and the 
visitors came from a distance to pay their respects 
and make the acquaintance of little Arthur. 

To Mrs. Pendleton home had never seemed 
so attractive as now. Although a woman of 
decidedly domestic tastes, she had been accus- 
tomed to find in the enjoyment of her husband’s 
society upon the Albatross so much satisfaction 
that she had unconsciously begun to feel that 
home was wherever the Albatross should spread 
her sails or cast her anchor. But now all this 
was changed. With her baby in her arms a great 


40 


ALICIA 


longing for home had come into her heart. Her 
longing and expectation, wafted by the wings 
of fancy, outsailed the flying Albatross, and 
daily in her imagination she rocked her baby in 
the old home she had left more than a year ago 
for a voyage to almost encompass the globe. 
The good Albatross had now made her realization 
possible, and she enjoyed to the fullest extent the 
welcome given her by friends and neighbors, 
and viewed with pride the interest that centered 
in little Arthur. 

Captain Gray was wont to take little Arthur 
in his arms to the village, and upon the steps of 
the inn that fronted the public square relate with 
conscientious importance to a never-diminishing 
audience the all-absorbing story. The fishermen 
coming up from their boats, the sailors just fresh 
from distant voyage, and the people from the 
hamlets and farms up among the green hills and 
sloping valleys, together with attentive villagers, 
made a group of ready listeners to the old sailor’s 
well-themed tale. 

The arrival of the stage-coach was the prin- 
cipal event of the day in the village, and its pas- 
sengers alighting at the inn swelled the audience 
of the old captain. The stage-coach reached 
the village about five o’clock in the afternoon, 
and, dashing through the covered wooden bridge 


THE ALBATROSS IN PORT 


41 


with rumbling wheels that announced its coming 
at the lower end of the village, brought up at the 
postoffice which shared one-half of the space 
used by the diminutive drug store that stood 
near the entrance to the bridge by the river. 
Leaving the mail pouch, the stage came on to the 
inn to discharge its passengers. 

Silas Craig, the driver, was a fixture of the 
town. He had driven the coach for many 
years, and he seemed to be inseparably con- 
nected with it. He was punctuality itself. At 
five o’clock, as the onlooker sat on the tavern 
steps, he would hear the rumbling wheels 
on the bridge and the yellow coach with 
driver Sile’s ponderous and familiar form on the 
high, swaying seat would come into view. He 
was the repository of all the old ladies’ and young 
ladies’ confidences, executing for them faithfully 
in the bustling railroad town which was the 
terminus of his route, commissions for the pur- 
chase of divers articles dear to the feminine heart. 
Rotund in form, of easy-going temperament, 
inclined to be taciturn, good-natured, a favorite 
with the children, and known and respected for 
miles around, he was an interesting and important 
figure in the neighborhood for years. He was, 
notwithstanding his taciturnity, a purveyor of 


news. 


42 


ALICIA 


The arrival of the Albatross and the birth 
of baby Arthur was an item of intelligence that 
dwarfed all others in its importance. Drawing 
up at a farm house along his route, with his horses 
under the shade of a spreading maple tree, Silas 
would ask, “Don’t ’spose you heered the news 
’bout the Albatross? No? Didn’t ’spose you 
had. She came home last Sunday an’ brought 
a cargo that never came to this port afore. You’d 
never guess what ’twas, an’ so I might as well 
tell ye. ’Twas a baby — yes, a baby; Mis’ Pendle- 
ton’s — born at sea — a boy. Got a doctor off a 
steamer. Captain’s name was Arthur and doc- 
tor’s name was Reide, an’ so they called the baby 
Arthur Reide arter these two ere men fur helpin’ 
’em. Yes, doin’ fine; an’ Mis’ Pendleton, too. 
Drive in an’ see ’em.” And so the news spread. 

The interest of all finally culminated in a recep- 
tion given by Captain and Mrs. Pendleton to 
celebrate their homecoming. Their well-pre- 
served home of colonial date amidst the century- 
old elms bespoke a comfort and hospitality that 
seemed a fitting accompaniment to the kindly 
sentiment of welcoming invitation that bade 
the attendance of all. The house sat quite a 
distance back from the street and was reached 
by a broad walk that entered the grounds at either 
end of the place, through large double gates that 


THE ALBATROSS IN PORT 


43 


accommodated the carriage-way as well. The old- 
fashioned door, surrounded by small leaded panes 
of glass, opened upon the broad porch with its 
large, round columns. Entering the wide hall, 
which ran through the center of the house to the 
gardens in the rear, the guests were received by 
Captain and Mrs. Pendleton with that cordiality 
and simplicity that prevailed among friends and 
neighbors of a New England town. 

The great esteem in which Captain Pendleton 
was held by all was equally shared by his wife. 
Mrs. Pendleton’s nature was such as to make her 
presence in the village once more a source of 
gratification to the residents. She possessed an 
educated and refined mind, with a serenity of 
temperament and kindness of disposition that 
well suited her person, which impressed the 
beholder most favorably. Her serious bearing, 
which was natural to her, was softened by the 
winning frankness of her intelligent countenance, 
which invited confidence without soliciting inti- 
macy. Her temperament was poetic, and while 
she practiced the practical virtues of the day, 
which she possessed in no small degree, she had 
acquired, both from inherited tastes handed down 
from ancestors of literary distinction, and from 
educational tendencies of her earlier days, in- 
fluenced by an impressionable and heroic nature. 


44 


ALICIA 


a habit for the refinements of literature that 
sought its gratification in the widest field of 
thought and letters. 

Luthie had been a child of her special favor. 
As she saw the little girl enter the hallway she 
greeted her with a kiss of affection, and made her 
little heart happy by bestowing upon her the 
coveted privilege of holding little Arthur in her 
arms. Little Arthur received the homage paid 
him by the gathering throng with blue-eyed 
wonder until sleep closed the little eyelids, and 
being placed in his cradle, the new-comers on 
silent tiptoe viewed him as he slept. 

Luthie’s history had a fascination for Mrs. 
Pendleton. A number of years before there had 
hailed from Portsmouth a ship owned and com- 
manded by one of the villagers named Alfred 
Alderney. One day at sea his ship had picked 
up an open boat in which there was a little baby 
girl fast asleep. She was immediately removed 
to the ship and cared for in the best manner pos- 
sible. The boat was a small affair, and bore the 
name on her bow in tiny black letters, Lady 
Luthie, The small craft contained provisions and 
a bundle of the child’s clothes that were still wet 
by the sea water, but nothing that tended to throw 
any light on the mystery of the little girl. 

At the end of his voyage every effort was made 


THE ALBATROSS IN PORT 


45 


by Captain Alderney to discover the relatives of 
the child. He learned that a large ship hailing 
from an English port had sailed from Montreal 
for Liverpool and foundered at sea; that just 
before sailing a gentleman and his baby girl had 
come aboard as passengers, and whose where- 
abouts and name had not been learned by anyone 
except the captain of the vessel. As the ship was 
foundering, the crew, under the direction of the 
captain, left the vessel in good order in the boats. 
The captain, with that splendid sense of duty and 
scorn of fear in the face of danger that so charac- 
terizes the thorough Englishman or native Ameri- 
can, refused to leave the ship until he should be 
the last one. The others from the boats, as a 
flash of lightning momentarily lighted up the 
scene, saw him standing by the rail with the child 
in his arms. He was never seen again. He had 
evidently placed the little girl in his small pleasure 
boat, which was the only boat left, and had either 
fallen from the ship or the boat, and was never 
seen more. Captain Alderney advertised both 
at home and abroad the rescue of the baby, 
but time brought no news concerning the little 
child. Captain Alderney took the little girl to 
his home and confided her to the care of his 
mother, who, upon the death of his wife a few years 
previous, had assumed the charge of his home and 


46 


ALICIA 


his only child Ralph. The affectionate heart of 
this lady, which had been sorely stricken by the 
death of her only daughter at the birth of baby 
Ralph, became attached to the little stranger who 
by her goodness and beauty won the hearts of the 
household in the little cottage with its rambling 
rose over the doorway. They named the little 
child Luthie, after the ship, and though rather 
delicate in her constitution as well as her disposi- 
tion, by reason of the solicitous care of her foster 
parents, she lived and prospered. 

Both Captain and Mrs. Pendleton possessed, 
through a life-long habitation amidst New Eng- 
land institutions and customs, a ready sympathy 
with, and appreciation of, the tone and sentiment 
of their community. The experiment of democ- 
racy here found its best fulfillment. The dream 
of the idealist found its realization. Caleb Car- 
ruthers, the lookout, found himself as much at 
home in Mrs. Pendleton’s house as on board the 
captain’s ship. The crew of the Albatross, made 
up of friends and neighbors, were numbered 
among the guests and shared with Captain and 
Mrs. Gray, Luthie and Ralph, the minister, the 
deacon — ^who, to Ralph’s astonishment, patted 
him approvingly on the head — and many others, 
the genuine hospitality of the day. 

The social conditions of a New England com- 


THE ALBATROSS IN PORT 


47 


munity at the time of which we write were truly 
the most delightful that have ever prevailed. 
The sincerity of sentiment and simplicity of 
manner, with the underlying though dominating 
principle of equality, were emotions common to 
all. These conditions not only facilitated com- 
munion with each other, but rendered the same 
by a natural reciprocity, notwithstanding the 
varying degrees of intelligence, taste, occupation 
and culture that composed the society of such a 
community, in the highest manner enjoyable and 
beneficial. Moved solely by the genuine polite- 
ness of the heart and freed from the artificial 
embellishments and false ambitions of a later age, 
society reached a level of refinement and quiet 
culture such as no American society has since 
attained. 

The fever of money-madness was not in the 
blood. The ruddy currents coursed through 
life’s channels unvexed by this later-day taint. 
The withering grip of commericalism had not 
strangled the true instincts of life. The weighty 
words of Jefferson’s inspired pen were still re- 
garded with the veneration of holy writ. Truth 
and honesty were the guiding principles of life, 
and sincerity and kindness smoothed the rough 
places of existence; education as a means of cul- 
ture was the ambition of the time, and from the 


48 


ALICIA 


savant at Cambridge, or under the elms on the 
Connecticut, to the farm boy among the quiet 
hills, or the fisher lad far away from home on the 
Newfoundland banks, such attainment was the 
dream of life. 

Amidst this golden age little Arthur found 
existence and grew and developed with the passing 
years. 


DU. REIDE’S PROPHECY 


49 


CHAPTER VI. 

DR. REIDE’s prophecy. 

After the return of Dr. Reide from the stranger 
ship the steamer United States proceeded rapidly 
upon her course. The news that Dr. Reide 
brought back with him of the birth of the baby 
created great interest on board, and that both 
mother and child were getting along nicely gave 
much satisfaction to all. 

Captain Arthur had been the recipient of the 
strongest expressions of gratitude from Captain 
Pendleton and had heard with pleasure the 
decision to commemorate his good offices by the 
bestowal of his name upon the child. He was 
now pushing the steamer forward with all speed 
possible and though jealous of the delay he had 
suffered, he felt the utmost satisfaction as he 
reviewed his conduct in responding to the signals 
of distress of the strange vessel. 

“What kind of people are they, Doctor?” he 
asked Dr. Reide, as they sat on the deck, with 
their cigars. 

“They are the best representatives of the native 
New England type,” replied the doctor. “Their 


50 


ALICIA 


home is at Portsmouth on the Maine coast where 
their people have lived many years. I had a long 
and interesting talk with Captain Pendleton. 
His ancestors and also his wife’s were settled 
there at the time of the Revolution, and were 
actively identified with the patriotic movement. 
Captain Pendleton’s grandfather belonged to the 
Sons of Liberty, and was engaged in the plan of 
displaying a lantern in the belfry of the Old South 
church as a signal to Paul Revere, and in his 
wife’s branch of the family I learned that she had 
a great-uncle in the fight at Trenton, and lifted 
General Mercer to carry him to a neighboring 
farm house from the orchard on the Princeton 
road after he fell so cruelly wounded by the 
cowardly British soldiers.” 

‘T consider them the highest type of American 
people,” continued the doctor. “Captain Pen- 
dleton is a man of fine worth. He is a resolute, 
frank man, intelligent and well educated, but 
without the high cultivation of his wife, who is a 
lady of exceptional refinement of mind. They 
are greatly devoted to each other and the coming 
of their little child has brought them great happi- 
ness. I was deeply touched by their thankfulness 
to me, and yourself as well, and they made me 
promise that neither you nor I should quite pass 
out of their lives now that we have so mysteri- 


DR. REIDE’S PROPHECY 


51 


ously come into them. I have agreed to visit 
their home with my family next summer, and 
they expect you to do the same. They intend to 
write you after their arrival home.” 

‘T am happy to hear this expression from you, 
Doctor,” replied the sailor. “Their apparent 
appreciation of our assistance in no little measure 
indicates the truth of your judgment. I shall be 
very glad to meet the Pendletons and shall avail 
myself of their invitation. I want to see my little 
namesake, and I hope to do so next summer.” 

“I must confess. Doctor,” continued the cap- 
tain, “that I am strangely interested in these 
people. This has been an unusual experience and 
there has been something about it that impresses 
me deeply.” 

“It has indeed been a strange experience for 
us both,” replied the physician. “I, too, have 
felt deeply impressed by it. They have promised 
to write me when they reach home, and I shall be 
glad to hear from them further.” 

“Yes, I shall, too,” replied Captain Arthur. 
“A sailor has many strange experiences, but I 
think I never passed through one equal to this, 
and which seems to affect me so strangely. It 
serves to emphasize the mysteries of life. We do 
not know the laws that govern us, and only faintly 
grasp their significance.” 


52 


ALICIA 


“If this muddy vesture of decay did not grossly 
shut us in we could hear bright Venus like an 
angel sing/* replied his companion. 

“Possibly so,’* said the captain; “but the fact 

is, our vesture need not be so muddy as we make 

it. Our senses should be attuned to the harmony 
of the universe. Notwithstanding our boasted 
civilization, the great mass of society still have 
eyes that see not, and ears that hear not. Men 
and women grovel in the mud of the Silurian age; 
they are creatures of cold blood. Like the fishes 
of that age, they have no hearts or brains. Our 
laws, and especially the unwritten precepts of 
society, express the low order of our civilization. 
The future historian and student will be puzzled 
by the crudeness that obtained in this period. 
In face of the religious tolerance of the time it will 
be a puzzling problem for him. He will be 
obliged, probably, to ascribe it to the lowness of 
the intellect, the commonness of the breed, so to 
speak.** 

“There are exceptions to these general condi- 
tions,** replied the physician significantly. 

“Yes, I quite agree with you,” said the captain 
generously, looking intently at the doctor. 

“I had another person in mind,” the latter re- 
plied with a laugh. 

“These exceptions,” said the captain resuming. 


DR, REIDE'S PROPHECY 


53 


“follow a well defined law — it is a law of civiliza- 
tion. The whole mass cannot move forward at 
once with sufficient rapidity to be of any appreci- 
able effect. That would be a ponderous move- 
ment forever impossible. There is but a slight 
movement of society forward as a body. Such 
movement is glacier-like — so slow as to be im- 
perceptible. As compared with the mass, there 
are but a few men and women that rise above 
their fellows, and their mere fact of rising neces- 
sarily puts them in an antipathetical position to 
existing law and precept. They therefore be- 
come by popular verdict lawbreakers and are 
condemned as such. The next generation or two 
having risen to their position, appreciating their 
superiority, singles them out for eulogy. 

“History is largely a record of these lawbreak- 
ers; a recital of those who saw the future by a 
clearer light than their contemporaries; saw 
visions and realized things not seen or realized 
by the mass of society; who recognized a higher 
and better law than the written law of legislatures 
and the unwritten rules of society. The begin- 
ning of the Christian era reveals the great law- 
breaker, Christ. He violated the law and the 
ignorant Roman rabble killed him. Society in 
every age has its rabble upheld by law. Christ 
was a continual lawbreaker. He rose so far 


54 


ALICIA 


above society and law in the age in which he 
dwelt that all his life and teachings, his thoughts 
and acts, were in conflict with the law of the state 
and the precepts of society. These exceptions, 
in every age, mark the high-tide of civilization.” 

“Would the Pendletons in any respect indicate 
their right to belong to such favored class?” 
asked the captain suddenly. The physician 
grew thoughtful. “If the laws of heredity are 
fulfilled,” he said slowly, “I believe that our little 
namesake will be the best type of that rare class 
of which you speak; — of those whose virtue, 
intelligence, tolerance, and humanity lift them 
out from the ordinary ranks of society and asso- 
ciate them with the great and good of the whole 
world.” 

“Unless,” added the captain slowly, “death 
defeats destiny.” 

“Death makes as well as unmakes. I cannot 
believe that death shall defeat the destiny of 
Arthur Reide Pendleton,” replied the physician. 
“Remember that destiny achieves sometimes its 
supremest moment in a noble expiration.” 

“Are you speaking prophetically?” asked the 
captain. 

“No, historically,” replied the doctor. 

“The tone of your voice was prophetic,” said the 
captain. 


DR. REIDE^S PROPHECY 


55 


“It may have been so,” replied the doctor. 
“It may be so now when I say that I cannot help 
but feel that in some manner I am linked with the 
destiny of Arthur Reide Pendleton.” 

“Well, Doctor, I will leave you to your thoughts. 
I have some work awaiting me, and so I will bid 
you good night.” Thus speaking Captain Arthur 
arose and entered his cabin, leaving Dr. Reide 
to the companionship of his own thoughts which 
seemed to present themselves in strange guise as 
the vessel sped on through the night. The glow 
of his cigar died out, and unable to shake off a 
feeling of loneliness, he sought his stateroom, and 
forgetfulness in slumber. 

Captain Arthur arrived at New York safely 
and his steamer’s passengers departed without 
delay for their various homes. Dr. and Mrs. 
Reide, with their little daughter Vivian, at once 
repaired to the Catskills where, after spending the 
summer which proved beneficial to Mrs. Reide 
and her child, they resumed once more their abode 
in New York, where Dr. Reide devoted himself 
with renewed ardor to the practice of his pro- 
fession. 

Upon the arrival of his vessel at New York, 
Captain Arthur had delivered the message in- 
trusted to him to the commanding officer of the 
government forces in the East, whose head- 


56 


ALICIA 


quarters were on Governor’s Island, a short way 
from the city. That night the United States war 
vessel Kearsarge steamed swiftly out from the 
lower bay, bound for the coast of France. Cap- 
tain Arthur’s vessel had been detained at quaran- 
tine in the lower bay, and he was standing upon 
the deck as the government vessel swept by him. 
He saw her commander in full uniform at his post 
and noted the quick look of interest that over- 
spread his countenance as his glance evidently 
took in the name of Captain Arthur’s vessel. 
Instantly he raised his hat to Captain Arthur, who 
saw to his surprise the familiar official envelope 
he had so jealously guarded and which he had a 
few hours before delivered to the commandant of 
the fort, held firmly in the officer’s hand. A 
quick look of intelligence passed between the 
men, and Captain Arthur, raising his hat, saluted 
the officer in return. The band on the warship 
was playing the national air as she passed, and the 
smoke pouring from her funnels in dense black 
clouds told of the urgency of her mission. Cap- 
tain Arthur watched her as she tore through the 
water, until the sound of the music died away 
and the vessel herself was lost in the distance. 

History has told the thrilling tale of the great 
sea fight between the Kearsarge and Alabama, 
and how the heart of a nation was thrilled at the 


DR. REIDE^S PROPHECY 


57 


glorious victory. The news came with particular 
effect to Captain Arthur, as it seemed to fully 
justify the wisdom of his decision when he de- 
cided to assume the hazard of delay occasioned 
by the aid he had rendered the Albatross, 

A pleasant correspondence with the Pendletons, 
having commenced shortly afterwards, resulted 
in his visit the following summer to their home 
at Portsmouth, where he met Dr. Reide and his 
family and began the acquaintanceship with his 
little namesake. The cordial relations thus 
commenced continued, and as the years galloped 
on with loosened rein occasional visits and fre- 
quent correspondence served to promote a warm 
and lasting friendship among them all. 

Little Arthur grew with the years into a pre- 
cocious, sweet- dispositioned child, and developed 
traits of mind and heart that brimmed the 
parents’ days with joy to overflowing. Dr. 
Reide and Captain Arthur became greatly 
attached to him and he was a universal favorite 
in the village. 

Dr. Reide’s love for his daughter Vivian had 
been of slow but steady growth, and as she 
budded into her attractive childhood such love 
hung unceasingly over her like a humming-bird 
above a flower. She had inherited her mother’s 
beauty, and 'her face of olive tint with her shining 


58 


ALICIA 


black tresses, and dark velvety eyes that flashed 
with well-sustained pride evidenced her ancestry. 
She had an imperious manner that seemed to 
accord with her person, but presented a marked 
contrast to the gentle manners of Luthie, who, 
during her visits at Portsmouth, was her most 
constant companion. 

Since the birth of her child a dozen years before, 
Mrs. Reide had been in delicate health, and in 
spite of all that could be done for her she gradu- 
ally failed until one bitter night after many sad 
days of anxious watching and unceasing care 
her eyelids drooped in a last sleep. And as Dr. 
Reide sat with bowed head beside the couch 
that held her silent form, Vivian crept into his lap 
and placed her little arms about his neck and her 
sweet face against his cheek, and as he strained 
his motherless little daughter to his breast he felt 
that his love for her had now become the domi- 
nating passion of his heart. 


THE DRIVE TO PORTSMOUTH 


59 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE DRIVE TO PORTSMOUTH. 

The train from the West had pulled into the 
depot at Porter’s Falls with its usual complement 
of passengers, among whom were several for the 
village of Portsmouth. Some of them, with the 
familiarity of old acquaintanceship, greeted Silas 
Craig, the stage driver, cordially, who, with nu- 
merous directions concerning the baggage, busied 
himself about the station platform until every- 
thing belonging to his passengers was securely 
loaded upon the wide oaken frame at the rear of 
the coach, and strapped in place with heavy 
leathern bands. There was one gentleman who 
had spoken to the driver who was evidently a 
stranger to him, and now that the baggage was 
in place he requested the privilege of occupying 
the seat with Silas on the way over to the village. 
The seat being vacant, the privilege was readily 
granted and the passengers having taken their 
places within the coach, and the gentleman in 
question having mounted to the driver’s seat, 
Silas gathered up his reins and took his place 
beside him. 


60 


ALICIA 


Nodding a farewell to the group of loiterers 
watching his departure, Silas spoke to his hand- 
some large horses and the coach rolled over the 
village street, through the bridge, over the river, 
whose waters foamed as they fell over a sharp 
ledge beneath, and out onto the country highway 
with even-going pace. The road was smooth 
and hard and followed in its trend the clear, 
rapid-flowing river, occasional glimpses of which 
were afforded the travelers by openings in the 
arbor-like banks, where the various trees indige- 
nous to the region marked the course of the stream. 

It was a picturesque region through which they 
were passing, and the stranger oceupying the seat 
with Silas, apparently with keen appreciation 
of the beauties of the scene, gazed with evident 
enjoyment upon the pleasing panorama. At 
times the road ran close to high-mounting banks, 
where enormous boulders cropping out from the 
earth seemed ready at a moment’s notice to 
precipitate themselves into the highway below, 
but clinging with tenacious grasp, they defied the 
law of gravitation and evoked the wonder of the 
observer. Upon the surface of grassy banks that 
sloped to the road, which were starred with the 
modest daisies and where the golden buttercups 
lifted up their gentle faces among the grasses of 
the field, other boulders lying full exposed showed 


THE DRIVE TO PORTSMOUTH 


61 


the soft velvety green of mosses gathered by the 
years that were gone. Here and there other 
rocks in curious and various attitudes thrust 
themselves out of the ground, cloaked in lichens 
of sober grey, in marked contrast to the occasional 
round, symmetrical stones of almost pure white 
color, that also presented themselves to the view 
of the passenger as the coach bowled easily 
forward under the impetus of the rapid pace of 
the thoroughbred horses now eagerly warming 
to their work which lay before them. 

“This is a beautiful country,” said the gentle- 
man, momentarily taking his eyes from the enjoy- 
ment of the scene to address Silas, who, apparently 
engrossed with the care of his horses, had never- 
theless noted with secret pleasure his companion’s 
appreciation of the beauties about them. 

“Yes, ’tis; hain’t no better in New England,” 
assented Sile. “Air you a stranger in these 
parts ?” he asked. 

‘Yes; I have never visited this section before,” 
the gentleman replied. “In fact, I am a stranger 
to New England. I have read so much of the 
beautiful scenery of this region that I have often 
been anxious to visit it, but have never had the 
opportunity to do so until now.” 

“You’re from York state, I ’spose ?” said Silas, 
glancing up at his seat-mate as he spoke. 


62 


ALICIA 


“Yes, my home is in the City of the Lakes. 
I am in the wholesale hardware business, and as 
a result of considerable correspondence between 
our house and Mr. Lovell of your town I have 
come to see him in reference to an enlargement 
of his store to embrace our line of goods.” 

“You don’t say?” inquired Silas with interest. 
“I heered Tim speak some of layin’ in some hard- 
ware. Peepul have got to go clean to the Falls 
now for everything they want, and it makes it 
kinder onhandy.” 

“I presume that you are well acquainted with 
the people hereabouts ?” asked the visitor, yielding 
to the mood for conversation. 

“Yes, I know most ev’rybody, and most ev’ry- 
body knows me. Ain’t hardly a body in this town, 
or the county either — man, woman or child — 
that don’t know Silas Craig,” said Silas with 
some tone of pride revealing itself in his soft, 
drawling voice, which weakness he hastily en- 
deavored to conceal by a skillful removal of a fly 
from the flank of the high-strung horse on the 
right of the pole, with the long lash of the whip 
that he bore in his right hand. 

“My name is John Hale,” returned the gentle- 
man politely to Silas’ apparent introduction of 
himself. “I am enjoying my drive with you very 
much, Mr. Craig,” he added, “and I consider it 


THE DRIVE TO PORTSMOUTH 


63 


a very good fortune to have had the place beside 
you on the coach/’ 

“Well, I’m glad you like it,” said Silas. “It’s 
mighty strange what a differunce there is in folks. 
I’ve had ’em afore now on the outside grumblin’ 
all the way over ’cause the seats inside was all 
taken; an other times I’ve had ’em wait over a 
trip to get a place outside. I like it best myself 
outside,” he said. “I couldn’t get ’long ’thout 
seein’ the road and the sky, and I like to ketch 
site of the rocks and the river. They all seem 
like frens to me, and I alius think their watchin’ 
for me and would be disappinted if they didn’t 
see old Sile ’bout this time. You know settin’ 
here so much alone ye git kinder strange thoughts,’ 
he added apologetically. 

“I don’t think your thoughts are strange, Mr. 
Craig,” replied Mr. Hale. “They please me very 
much. I am a lover of nature, and I like to 
think that natural objects are not insensible to us. 

“There’s one of my little frens now,” said Silas, 
nodding towards the inner side of the road where 
on the top rail of the fence was perched a bright- 
faced red squirrel. Reaching into the capacious 
pocket of his coat Silas secured a small bit of 
bread and deftly tossed it towards the small 
creature, which darted out of sight at the move- 
ment of his hand. Reappearing shortly with the 


64 


ALICIA 


morsel of food in its mouth, it ran along the rail a 
short distance and leaping to the ground was lost 
to sight in the grove through which they were 
passing. 

Mr. Hale had viewed the incident with interest, 
and remarked as the squirrel disappeared, “The 
very inhabitants of the forest seem to know you, 
Mr. Craig.” 

“Well, some on ’em do,” replied Silas. 

“Are you in the habit of feeding the squirrels 
along your route?” Mr. Hale asked. 

“I alius calkalate to have somethin’ with me 
to feed a few little creeturs I’m ’quainted with,” 
replied Silas. “This little feller,” he continued, 
“is alius lookin’ for the bread; he’s pretty tame. 
Some on ’em don’t take it like that, but wait ’til I 
drive on.” 

“I see you are kind to animals, Mr. Craig. 
I have been observing, too, the care you have 
been giving your horses. They are fine fel- 
lows. Did you raise them yourself ?” said Mr. 
Hale, looking with admiration at the animals that 
without effort still kept their even, swinging trot 
that bowled the coach along at a rapid pace. 

“No,” Silas answered, “Cap’n Pendleton raised 
’em. He’s got the finest stock in the state.” 

“Captain Pendleton?” inquired Mr. Hale. 
“Of your town ?” 


THE DRIVE TO PORTSMOUTH 


65 


“Yes,” said Silas. “He’s master of the Alba- 
tross, She’s the largest ship on the coast, you 
know.” 

“Where does he raise his horses?” asked Mr. 
Hale somewhat mystified. 

“Oh, he’s got a big farm ’bout five miles from 
town, and he breeds some great bosses I tell you. 
Cattle, too,” he continued reflectively. 

“It’s unusual for a sea-faring man to be inter- 
ested in the land, and especially the breeding of 
live stock, is it not?” asked Mr. Hale. 

“I guess ’tis, as a general thing,” replied the 
driver; “but Cap’n Pendleton is an onusual man. 
He’s interested in most everything goin’ on. He’s 
plannin’ to build a mill now so as to give work 
to the home folks.” 

“A mill ?” inquire Mr. Hale. 

“Yes — a cotton mill,” said his companion. 
“We’ve got a cardin’ mill and a wood-workin’ 
factory and the stave shop now, but ’twant quite 
enuff and so the Cap’n said he guess’d he’d 
build a mill. You see we get good power from 
the river,” said he, glancing towards the swiftly- 
flowing stream. 

“Here’s Cap’n Pendleton’s place,” continued 
Silas, as they reached the top of a long hill that 
stretched out before them for a mile or more from 
which, far across the valley that lay at the foot 


6 


66 


ALICIA 


of the slope, they could see the blue waves of the 
sea. 

As he spoke they reached the entrance to the 
place and as they passed the large gates a horse- 
man, superbly mounted, dashed down the drive 
to the highway. After several futile efforts on 
the part of the animal to unseat its rider, the horse 
wheeled about and ran up the road with the fleet- 
ness of the wind. As the animal reared and 
plunged in the highway Silas pulled up his horses 
to avoid a collision, and the momentary halt per- 
mitted Mr. Hale to witness the fine animal and 
the rider’s skill, and also gave him a good view 
of the rider himself, who, as he dashed by the 
coach, waived his hand to Silas, who was holding 
his horses with tight rein and viewing the scene 
with gleaming animation. 

“That’s Arthur Pendleton,” said Silas as he 
started his horses forward. 


SILAS^ NARRATIVE 


67 


CHAPTER VIII. 

SILAS’ NARRATIVE. 

Reaching the top of the steep decline in the road 
Silas pressed his foot to the brake of the coach, and 
giving to it the weight of his massive form, he 
forced the iron shoe to the wheel. The heavy coach 
had almost brought the trained horses to their 
haunches as they steadily held the pressing vehicle, 
till the brake clutching the rasping wheels relieved 
them of the pressure; and proceeding more easily 
but at a slow pace down the long hill, Silas 
afforded Mr. Hale an opportunity to view in silence 
the magnificent scenery stretched out before them. 

Far in the distance as though rising from the 
very ocean itself could be seen the spire of the 
meeting-house at Portsmouth. It looked a fine 
and faint line against the sky viewed through the 
miles of ether that now bore to the nostrils the 
first strange taste of the sea. Here and there a 
sail, diminutive in the distance, glimmered in the 
sunlight of the waning afternoon and flashed to 
the hilltop a glint of sun through the transparent 
atmosphere, as now and then the shifting can- 
vas caught its orient beams. 


68 


ALICIA 


“He’s a fine looking young man,” said Mr. 
Hale, who had been most favorably impressed 
with the appearance of the rider. He had ob- 
served him closely and saw that he was a youth 
with a frank, striking-looking countenance with 
high brow and hashing, deep-set eyes, of about 
sixteen years of age. He had a well-built, hand- 
somely proportioned form with erect carriage and 
sat his horse with long stirrups which displayed 
his shapely legs at their full length which clung 
to the horse’s sides as though bound with muscles 
of steel. He sat his horse easily and despite the 
desperate plunges of the animal maintained a 
calm bearing of both person and countenance 
that bespoke a fine physique becomingly tenanted 
by a lofty and imperturable spirit. Mr. Hale had 
viewed him admiringly, and as Silas announced 
his name he found himself renewing the conversa- 
tion with especial interest. 

“He is Captain Pendleton’s son, I presume?” 
he said as they proceeded slowly down the 
hill. 

“Yes,” replied Silas, “his only child — and a 
fine lad, too.” 

“I liked his appeareance very much. He is a 
splendid horseman.” 

“There hain’t no better,” replied Silas, pleased 
at the praise of his favorite. “Jim Towles 


SILAS^ NARRATIVE 


69 


learned him to ride and he was the best rider I 
ever see.” 

“Where is Jim now ?” asked Mr. Hale. 

“Where’s Jim ? Oh, he’s settin’ on the tavern 
steps,” replied Silas, “onless he’s inside. He’s 
generally on the steps or in the bar room,” he 
added in explanation. 

“Does he keep horses ?” said Mr. Hale, entering 
heartily into the conversation. 

“No,” answered Silas, “but he used to ride 
some a good many years ago. 

“Didn’t you ever heer tell of Guvnor Towles 
of Wyomin’ continued Silas. “No ? Well, 
that’s Jim. You see ’twas like this. Jim was a 
mighty smart boy when me and him went to 
school together in the red school-house up the 
road there beyond the meetin’-house. He learnt 
things mighty quick and when the trustee used 
to come to see the school the teacher would 
show off with Jim. He’d recite Horasho at 
the Bridge, and make up a speech out on his 
own head which sounded fine, and the trustee 
would look proud-like and stand up and say, 
‘That’s fust class,’ and the teacher would be so 
tickled that he’d let school out fur the rest o’ the 
day. 

“Yes,” continued Silas thoughtfully, “Jim was 
awful smart, and a mighty likely feller — fine lookin’, 


70 


ALICIA 


too. He had a lively speerit and was the leader 
’mong the young folks in the village. He used 
to sing in the quire at meetin’ for he had a fine 
tenor voice, and I’ve heerd him sing “The Sword 
of Bunker Hill” many a time in the old days, 
sweet as a bird song. Well, Jim set out to be a 
lawyer, and he used to live up to Squire Meach- 
am’s, in the big house next to our place and read 
what the law was outen the books the ’squire had. 
Those days ’Mis Meacham had a girl for help, 
named Lucy Leland. She was a good girl, quite 
young and an orphan, and had as pretty an’ 
sweet a face as you’d want to see. She sung in 
the quire too, and mos’ the young fellers in the 
village was kind o’ keepin’ comp’ny with Lucy, 
but she didn’t seem to care fur any on ’em — ’cept 
the minister and Jim. The preecher was a 
young feller an’ he was mighty smart, too, and well 
liked, an’ cud preech a terribul powerful sermon. 
He was pale-feetured, and wore glasses that made 
him look kind o’ solumn like and timid in his 
manner. 

“Jim was a rollickin’, harum-scarum feller . 
those days, alius kind o’ merry, with big black 
eyes and a fore-hed like a woman’s. But arter 
awhile she seemed to favor Jim, and the minister 
didn’t have no show like, and one day in meetin’ 
the preecher read a notice that Jim and Lucy 


SILAS’ NARRATIVE 


71 


was to be married Sunday next — an’ he dropt the 
paper twict while he read it, and it made me feel 
kinder sooperstishus.” 

“A few nites arter that Jim was woke up by the 
’squire in the middle o’ the nite, an’ the ’squire 
told him that Lucy was took sick very sudden 
and for him to ride his saddle-hoss to the Falls 
fur a doctor as fast as ever he cud get there. The 
’squire’s hoss was in our barn; he had brought 
her from Kentucky and her name was Whisper. 
That hoss you saw Arthur ridin’ is descended 
from her. I remember how Jim came runnin’ 
without hat or coat on, an’ bangin’ on our door, 
and how he had the bridle an’ saddle on the mare 
in a jiffy, an’ before I cud hardly speak to him he 
was on her back an’ ridin’ like the wind. I re- 
member I thought to ketch her gait as I listened 
fur the sound of her hoofs gallopin’ on the wooden 
planks of the bridge in the stillness o’ the nite, but 
I didn’t heer ’em, fur that mare struck the bridge 
only onct — she was fly in’ like a bird, an’ Jim 
knew how to ride her.” 

Silas ceased speaking and Mr. Hale, waiting 
for a moment, said, “Did Jim get the doctor ?” 

“Yes,” returned Silas, haltingly, “but ’twant 
no use, fur just as the mornin’ light came in the 
sky — Lucy died. I remember it jes as plain as if 
’twere yesterday. I waited to take Jim’s hoss 


72 


ALICIA 


when he got back, and the mare was so weak an’ 
trembly on her legs — though she was a thorough- 
bred — that I had to work on her fur quite a spell 
to get her back in shape agin. But I got her 
cooled off nice and dry, with her thin legs band- 
aged up in proper shape, an’ I put a good feed in 
her manger and went over to the Squire’s. He 
heerd my voice in the hallway when I ast how 
Lucy was, an’ he called me to him, an’ as I came 
up the stairway he said, ‘Silas, Lucy’s dying.’ 
An’ thro’ the open doorway I saw her with 
her face as white as was the pillow where she lay; 
and Jim was kneelin’ by her with his face hid in 
her bosom. Her hand rested on his hed an’ I 
remember how white it looked, most hidden in 
his long black hair, all mud-spattered from his 
ridin’.” 

Again Silas ceased speaking and Mr. Hale, who 
had sat with lowered eyes, fascinated by the rude 
eloquence of the simple story, saw Silas transfer 
both his reins to the left hand as with averted head 
he stealthily wiped his eyelids with the right 
sleeve of his coat. Forbearing interruption, he 
kept the silence until Silas, in low tones, con- 
tinued, “Well, Jim didn’t stay ’round these parts 
long arter that. He went out West an’ kinder 
drifted ’round fur awhile, an’ then he got to be a 
lawyer, an’ one day he was ’lected Lootenent 





^^Jim was kneelin 


by her with his face 


hid in her 


bosom.'* 


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SILAS’ NARRATIVE 


73 


Guvnor of Wyomin’. He came back arter a 
time, an’ it seemed sort o’ strange to see Jim with 
a long black coat on an’ that jolly look he used 
to have all gone outen his face, an’ to heer the 
folks all call him Guvnor. He had old man 
Dodsley — he makes the gravestuns down to 
Portsmouth — send ’way to Tennessee fur a 
piece o’ marble to make a shaft fur Lucy’s 
grave. There wasn’t none in town that suited 
Jim; — an’ you can see it there in the grave- 
yard by the meetin’-house, fur there’s none 
so tall as Lucy’s. Jim, he went back West agin, 
an’ kinder took to drink, an’ then we heard he’d 
give up the law and turned to be a cowboy; then 
we heerd he’d kinder gone to pieces, an’ arter 
that we lost track on him fur years. One day I 
saw him settin’ on my coach at the station — 
where you be settin’ now — an’ I knowed him, 
though he had greatly changed. He came over 
with me to the village, an’ he’s ben here ever 
since.” 

‘Tt was him that learned Arthur to ride a hoss. 
He was a good rider afore he went out West, 
but he learned lots from off the cowboys. They 
ride with long stirrups there, an’ it gives a man a 
grip on a boss’s sides with his legs, so the hoss 
can’t throw you nohow. I seen some fellers 
ridin’ in the park when I was to Boston onct, an’ 


74 


ALICIA 


they sot upon their bosses like a woman when 
she sets upon the floor to put her shoes on, an’ I 
had to laff to see ’em.” 

Glancing at his watch and having reached the 
bottom of the hill, Silas cracked his long whip 
and the horses, eager for the home stretch, sprang 
forward refreshed by the drowsy pace they had 
taken without remonstrance from Silas, who, 
unconscious of his action, had relaxed his usual 
care. 

After a few moments of silence Mr. Hale said 
in a tone of interest, “I hope Jim is getting along 
well now.” 

“Well,” returned Silas, “kinder so-so. Jim 
don’t drink so much no more, ’cept when a certain 
time o’ year comes round, an’ then he’s kinder 
apt to. I remember such a time onct at tem- 
prunce meetin’. Jim was there. The place was 
full o’ folks to heer the preecher they’d got from 
Boston. He’d ben out West an’ he told o’ the 
work he’d done out there to reform the cowboys. 
An’ he said that some on ’em was hopeless an’ 
lost to sin an’ drink furever. He was powerful 
in earnest an’ he spoke redhot agin the whisky 
demon, an’ he pled with those who drank to give 
the pizen stuff the go-by. An’ he said if those 
who drank would quit their likker they’d be rich 
insted o’ poor; they’d have fertile farms an’ brick 


SILAS’ NARRATIVE 


75 


blocks; an’ as he said this Jim riz up — Jim he’d 
ben drinkin’ or he probly wuddent done it — an’ 
he says, ‘Did you say if folks wud quit their likker 
they’d be rich insted o’ poor; wud have brick 
blocks an’ fertile farms ?’ ‘Yes,’ said the preecher 
‘Well, you must drink lots o’ likker,’ said Jim. 
‘Not a drop o’ the sinful stuff,’ says the preecher, 
kinder angry. ‘Well then, where’s yourn?’ says 
Jim, an’ down he sot agin. The preecher looked 
confused like and whispured somethin’ to the 
cheerman, who sed no questions must be ast 
to interrupt the speaker.” 

“Arter Jim sot down, the preecher went on 
with his speakin’ an’ he hammered at the drinkers 
powerful hard. Said they was lost to all their 
manhood; that they was no good to nobody; that 
he wuddent trust ’em nowhere, fur you cuddent 
rely on ’em; said they cuddent think a good tho’t, 
fur the whisky wuddent let ’em, an’ they cuddent 
do a good deed, fur it sapped their strength an’ 
power. Well, when the preecher finished, the 
cheerman riz an’ sed that his remarks had done 
’em all a lot o’ good an’ the folks was all indebted 
to him, an’ he’d like to ast (if he wasn’t tired with 
his speakin’), if be wuddent tell o’ some experience 
he mite o’ had out West with Injuns, if it hap- 
pened that he’d had sum. An’ the preecher sed 
indeed he had, but he tho’t ’twud not be proper 


76 


ALICIA 


to tell the peepul ’bout himself at such a meetin’, 
but the cheerman sed he tho’t ’twud be most 
interestin’ an’ knowed that anything he mite tell 
’bout himself wud be welcomed by the folks at 
the meetin.” 

“So the preecher told how onct out in Wyomin’ 
in a frontier town they called Larrimy, he had 
druv out ’bout ten miles to a sheep ranch to pray 
with a poor woman who had a sick an’ dyin’ 
baby. Well, the nite he got there a man rode 
into town — he’d left that mornin’ — with his hoss 
a drippin’ wet an’ blowin,’ an’ brung the news 
that the Injuns had hedded fur the town, an’ was 
killin’ all the settlers an’ burnin’ all the buildin’s. 
He sed he warned all the peepul ’cept this ranch 
that I just spoke of, that he’d tried to reach there, 
but he made his mind up if he tried it that he’d 
have no time to warn the town.” 

“An’ as the peepul gathered ’bout him as he 
stood there by his hoss that was tremblin’ with 
droopin’ hed and heavin’ shoulders, ev’ry one was 
silent till one man spoke up an’ ast who’d go with 
him to warn these peepul; an’ the men shook 
their heds and sed ’twant no use; ’twas too late, 
an’ they didn’t want to waste their lives fur 
nuthin’ when twud do no good. Then this man’s 
face blazed with anger, an’ he swore a string o’ 
cuss words an’ sed he’d be damned if he’d set idly 


SILAS’ NARRATIVE 


77 


by an’ let them red devils get that woman an’ her 
baby onless they took his scalp to keep ’em 
comp’ny, an’ he druv his spurs in his boss’s sides 
an’ rode away like mad — alone, across the 
perairie.” 

“As the preecher kept on speakin’ you cud o’ 
heard a pin drop, the peepul was so quiet, an’ I 
cud see ’em all a leanin’ for’ard in their seats with 
their eyes all kinder glistenin’ — all ’cept Jim, 
who sat there with his eyes closed an’ his hed 
drooped on his bosom. Then the speaker told 
how ’bout the time o’ midnite they was woke 
outen their sleep by this man a poundin’ on the 
door with his pistol, an’ how scairt the woman 
was, an’ how she kept a faintin’ an’ a screamin’ 
’bout her baby so it tuk two on ’em to hold her so 
they cuddent hitch the bosses, an’ finally the man 
got her quiet by tellin’ her his boss wuddent stan’ 
onless she held him, an’ he got off the boss an’ 
made her hold him an’ she petted the boss when 
she saw him tremblin’ so, an’ so they got her mind 
from off her danger; — an’ this man told her how 
he’d take care o’ the baby; that he’d got childrun 
o’ his own an’ knew just how to do it (which wasn’t 
so, cuz he hadn’t none an’ never did have), an’ 
that no one shud hurt that baby. An’ when he 
saw the baby so pinched and peaked in its little 
face, an’ so pale an’ deth-like, he pulled his flask 


78 


ALICIA 


outen his pocket, while the other two men was 
hitchin’ up the bosses an’ the mother holdin’ his 
hoss outside, an’ he mixed sum whisky in a 
tumbler with sum water, an’ got a spoon an’ fed 
it to the baby; an’ the preecher saw him when 
he came in to tell that the bosses and the wagon 
was all ready. The preecher sed ’twas no time 
then to ’monstrate with the man fur such a sinful 
action. 

“An’ he went on to tell how this man made a bed 
fur the baby in the wagon soft an’ warm an’put her 
in it, an’ helped ’em all into the wagon, an’ then 
he says (an’ right afore the preecher), ‘Drive like 
hell,’ an’ then they started off, an’ the man staid 
behind a settin’ on his hoss with his rifle cocked an’ 
ready, listenin’ fur the warhoop, an when they’d 
got well started he followed arter. An’ the preecher 
told how they lashed the bosses to a run thru’ 
the blackness of the perairie, an’ how arter a few 
miles were traveled they cud see the sky blaze up 
behind ‘em as the Injuns burned their buildin’s. 
An’ he told how they got to town safe an’ sound 
with the baby sweetly sleepin’ through it all, an’ 
how the baby got well right along arter that nite 
an’ prospered. 

“An’ as the preecher told this he finished an’ then 
sot down, an’ all the peepul heaved a deep breath 
an’ the cheerman said kinder husky, ‘twas an 


SILAS^ NARRATIVE 


79 


interestin’ recital, an’ they all felt so thankful that 
God had saved him from the redskins. An’ then 
he ast the preecher who the man was who had 
ridden out to help them, an’ the preecher sed he 
was a worthless, drunken feller who hung ’bout 
the town there, an’ that his name was Towles, 
if he didn’t disremember.” 

Silas stopped his story and looking at his watch, 
again urged his horses forward at a more rapid 
pace, and looking up at Mr. Hale, he said, “That 
was Jim; — onct Lootenent Guvnor of Wyomin’, 
an’ the man that learned Arthur what he knows 
’bout hoss-back ridin’. Somehow or other the 
preecher’s story got in the paper over to the Falls, 
an’ pretty soon a chap came down from Boston 
to write it fur his paper. He rode with me over 
to the village an’ ast me all ’bout the meetin’, an’ 
I told it to him, just as I remembered, an’ he put 
my name in the paper — fur I seen it there my- 
self — a ’long a side o’ Jim’s. 

“An’ arter that, peepul cornin’ over used to ast 
me all ’bout him an’ seemed to want to praise 
him, but he didn’t seem to like it, fur he’d alius 
bow genteel like, an’ walk off an’ leave ’em. He 
never talks with peepul much, even those that 
know him in the village, but me an’ Jim are good 
frens, ’cause he remembers when me and him was 
school boys together. He keeps by himself most 


80 


ALICIA 


all the time, an’ duzzent care for no one — onless 
its me an’ Arthur.” 

The sound of Silas’ voice having ceased, Mr. 
Hale perceived that his companion’s emotions 
were awakened by the recollections that he had 
summoned and forbore to interrupt him, but 
yielding himself to the feelings so deeply excited 
in his own breast by the tale that had been told, 
became lost in thought. 

The coach was now rapidly approaching the 
outskirts of the town, to the various objects of 
which Mr. Hale now began to give his attention, 
which was so interestingly engaged that almost 
before he knew it the rumble of the coach wheels 
on the covered bridge told him that they had 
reached the village; and the church upon the hill- 
side coming fully to his view as the coach swung 
round the curve where the river bends almost at 
right angles to reach the town, he saw the hands 
of the large clock upon the church tower point 
to the hour of five, and as he looked, he heard the 
mellow notes of the bell rising above the rumble 
of the wheels as the clock struck the hour. 

As the coach drew up to the village inn Mr. 
Hale saw the usual group of persons gathered 
to watch its arrival, and aside from the others, he 
saw a man sitting on the steps where the pro- 
jecting porch commanded a view of the sea. He 


SILAS* NARRATIVE 


81 


glanced up as the coach stopped, and Mr. Hale 
looked into his face with its black hair lying in 
heavy locks over the brow that Mr. Hale re- 
membered Silas had said was ‘‘like a woman’s.” 
He saw the eyes look wearily upward, still black, 
but dull as embers that had spent their fire; and 
the rough, dark blue shirt, opened carelessly at 
the throat, showed the skin, white, too, like a 
woman’s; and as he moved his head the cords 
on his throat revealed the muscular development 
of the man amply corroborated, Mr. Hale noticed, 
by his broad chest and shoulders. 

Silas saw him, too, as he whirled his whipstock 
in air to wind the long lash about the handle. 
And Mr. Hale would have known him as he sat 
there even if Silas, as he threw his reins to a waiting 
hostler, had not whispered, “That’s Jim; — he 
was onct Lootenent Guvnor of Wyomin/’ 


6 


82 


ALICIA 


CHAPTER IX. 

MR. HALE AT THE HOME OF THE PENDLETONS. 

Several days had elapsed since Mr. Hale 
arrived at Portsmouth and he had lingered with 
an uncertainty as to the date of his departure. 
His business with Mr. Lovell had been accom- 
plished in a manner that proved very satisfactory 
to them both. Early in his conversation with the 
merchant the latter had spoken of the new cotton 
mill that was being planned by Captain Pendleton, 
and had expressed a desire that Mr. Hale should 
meet the captain, and give him such suggestions 
as to its equipment as might in his judgment 
prove advantageous to the enterprise. Captain 
Pendleton was absent at the time in Boston and 
Mr. Hale readily consented to await his return, 
which was looked for within a few days at the 
furthest. 

In the meantime Mr. Hale had found much of 
interest to divert his attention in and about the 
village. The beautiful scenery of the region was 
at all times a source of pleasure to him, and there 
was no moment that hung idly on his hands 
while such panoramic opportunities were capable 


MR. HALE AT THE PENDELTONS 


83 


of his availment. He found much interest in 
acquainting himself with the nature and customs 
of the people, which in many respects he found 
differing considerably from those in other sections 
of the country with which he was familiar and, 
as he observed, were the legitimate results of the 
traditions and early experiences of that region 
which, named after the British Isle and still called 
new, was old enough, he thought, to have created 
the greatest epoch in history, to have upheld by 
courageous arm that knew no weakening the 
Virginian interpretation of the rights of man, and 
to have inculcated and practiced rules of life that 
would yet shape and mould the character of a 
nation and rescue and determine the destiny and 
liberties of a great people in the momentous years 
that were to come. 

Mr. Hale had truly a wonderful mind and a 
nature correspondingly unusual. He was a self- 
made man, but with none of the characteristics 
of the crude specimens that society boast- 
fully exhibits at times as they are pushed to the 
forefront of our busy American life. He was a 
native of the City of the Lakes and in early years, 
being thrown upon his own resources, he became 
engaged in an establishment located in that 
thriving port, that was already beginning to 
acquire importance as the gateway to the great 


84 


ALICIA 


and fertile domain that lay to the westward of that 
inland sea, whose clear waters in their falling at 
the brink of a mighty precipice miles away, easily 
became the eighth wonder of the world. This 
establishment manufactured milling machinery 
and Mr. Hale became thoroughly acquainted with 
the business in all its details. After a number of 
years’ service in this relation he transferred his 
connection to a large manufacturing and jobbing 
concern, also located in his home city, which made 
many specialties common to the hardware busi- 
ness and dealt generally with all articles known 
to this trade. 

Mr. Hale devoted his excellent abilities to his 
business matters with a determination to more 
than engage them in a superficial manner for the 
purpose of abstracting therefrom a mere livli- 
hood. On the other hand no ambition for money 
had ever gained control of his thoughts, and his 
attitude towards his labors was that of a man who 
conscientiously strives to contribute no effort 
short of his best ability and most strenuous exer- 
tion to any undertaking in which he is engaged. 
Stimulated by no inordinate desire for monetary 
reward, but guided by the desire to do whatever 
he undertook in the best manner possible, to 
learn about his business all there was to be learned 
and to so equip and conduct himself as to render 


MR. HALE AT THE PEN BELTONS 


85 


to himself the satisfaction of the fullest acquire- 
ment and to secure for his customers as well as 
his employers the best benefit of his knowledge, 
skill, and experience, he found that his daily 
labors in business life in no wise conflicted with 
his more important endeavors for the develop- 
ment of his life and character. 

His experience proved of great value to Captain 
Pendleton, to whom Mr. Hale was introduced 
immediately upon his arrival home. Mr. Hale 
had looked forward with anticipation to meeting 
Captain Pendleton, and the latter finding the 
visitor from the City of the Lakes such an intel- 
ligent and companionable gentleman, pressed his 
invitation upon Mr. Hale to be his guest with 
such sincerity that the afternoon following the 
captain’s return he found himself domiciled in 
the Pendleton home. But unfortunately his 
anticipated pleasure of several days’ visit had 
scarce begun ere it was revoked by receipt of a 
letter on the evening mail, containing an urgent 
demand for his presence home and necessitated, 
much to his regret, a decision for his departure 
by the stage of the following morning. 

He had been at the Pendleton home but a few 
hours before this summons came, but the time 
had been sufficiently long for him to appreciate 
to the full the rare flavor of the hospitality dis- 


86 


ALICIA 


pensed by the ancestral place where he was now a 
guest; and he surrenderd with reluctance the 
anticipated intercourse with Captain and Mrs. 
Pendleton, a brief acquaintance with whom had 
alluringly suggested to his peculiarly constituted 
nature a communion of a highly enjoyable and 
beneficial kind. Mr. Hale had been charmed 
with Mrs. Pendleton, and as she greeted him in the 
broad, old-fashioned hallway he appreciated 
instinctively her liberal culture. To one of his 
nature and training Mrs. Pendleton’s high mental 
and moral attributes became apparent with facility, 
and without the necessity of the closer inspection 
that most others would have required. 

Mr. Hale had been deprived of the usual 
opportunities for educational acquirement, but 
his nature was such that he could easily dispense 
with much of the formality of instruction thus 
denied him and still progress towards that culti- 
vation that early became the spontaneous and 
expanding growth of his existence; and as he 
entered the Pendleton home he was recognized 
by its occupants as being a business man of 
unusual culture. Favored by nature at the out- 
set with a mind of unusual power and a spirit 
open to all the best and sweetest influences 
of life, and with a fine physique, capable of endur- 
ing the severe strain his ambition placed upon it. 


MR. HALE AT THE PENDELTONS 


87 


Mr. Hale made good use of the talent intrusted to 
his care, and now showed plainly the profitable 
use he had made of his trust. His denial of edu- 
cational opportunities had only stimulated his 
ambition for an education, and as he ranged the 
wide expanse of thought and history his researches 
in his earnestness often led him into secluded but 
attractive fields of mental endeavor and philosophi- 
cal study which, having escaped the consideration 
of the more formal student, brought to him that 
peculiar delight that is alone vouchsafed the one 
who combines in himself the hardihood of the 
discoverer with the perception of the connoisseur. 

His large thought had naturally brought him 
into close relations with matters of reform and he 
had early lent himself to the movement for relig- 
ious tolerance in this country of which he was an 
earnest advocate; and also to the later movement 
for the abolition of slavery, in which from his 
earliest manhood he had been strenuously en- 
gaged. Thus he naturally progressed to the 
consideration of the social and economic questions 
that begun to force themselves upon the attention 
of the thoughtful, owing to unwise laws founded 
upon the religious superstition of a remote and 
darkened period of society which still constrained 
the freedom of its members, notwithstanding the 
enfranchisement so solemnly promised by the 


88 


ALICIA 


Spirit of the Age, and also by the baneful ambitions 
that had sprung into existence with the large 
fortunes made possible by the bloody favors of 
the great civil war. 

As a young man Mr. Hale had contracted an 
alliance with a young woman who was a resident 
of a beautiful village situated but a short distance 
from his native city. She was a woman of those 
characteristic mentalities that such association 
served at all times to encourage his ambitions 
along the various lines of his development and to 
create for him, and herself as well, a relation that 
found in its daily unfoldment an existence of 
great benefit and happiness. She possessed a 
firmness of spirit that caused an admirable self- 
reliance to be as natural to her as it was unusual 
in a woman. Her flashing grey eyes denoted a 
lofty courage that knew no fear and her firm lips 
and chin, that seemed not to mar the delicate 
contour of her face, but rather added to its natural 
and striking attractiveness, bespoke the Spartan 
spirit that dwelt within. She combined with an 
appreciative mind the rare faculty of being a good 
listener, which made her most companionable, 
and a fitting recipient of the confidences of her 
husband, so freely bestowed upon her, and caused 
her to contribute her continual encouragement 
to his thought and labors. 


MR. HALE AT THE PENDELTONS 


89 


Of a benevolent disposition, she was constantly 
doing good in her own way, and to firmness of 
will she attached a spirit of kindness and justice 
that was attractive to behold. While possessing 
so much self-control, she bestowed upon those 
worthy of it an unalloyed affection; and that she 
was capable of a great and lasting attachment 
was witnessed both by the love she bore for her 
husband, and later by her passionate devotion to 
the sweet little being she one day cuddled in her 
arms while her ears eagerly drank in the first 
startled cry of her new-born child. The years 
flowed on, and as they passed, this love and devo- 
tion grew and expanded with the development 
of this little one who seemed to hold within her 
keeping the combined spirit of both her parents, 
which was evidenced in many ways and as readily 
marked as was the hereditary, physical attribute 
she possessed in the queenly, charming carriage 
of her mother. Indeed, the child possessed many 
of the physical and mental characteristics of both 
parents, supplemented by those peculiarly her 
own, that gave promise of attractive beauty as 
fitting accompaniment to unusual embellish- 
ments of mind. 

Mr. Hale had rendered Captain Pendleton 
much benefit as they advised and planned to- 
gether for the new mill which the former dis- 


90 


ALICIA 


cerned was a matter of intense interest to Captain 
Pendleton. As they sat upon the broad porch 
of the house the evening before Mr. Hale’s 
departure, his attention was again called to the 
subject of the mill by Captain Pendleton recurring 
to various considerations of the matter which 
suggested themselves to his mind. Mr. Hale 
learned with great interest of Captain Pendleton’s 
plan to have every person engaged in the new 
mill in any capacity whatever, to be a sharer in the 
enterprise. Stock was to be issued to each 
employee at actual cost and those few, if any, 
who were unable to purchase the same could still 
secure it by small payments, to be charged upon 
their incomes from the business. The employees 
were to elect their own superintendent and other 
officials and to manage and plan the business 
without control from Captain Pendleton, except 
as they should seek his assistance and advice. 
Furthermore, he added, its financial success 
would be guaranteed by himself, so that no person 
should meet with loss by engaging in the en- 
terprise. 

Finally disposing of the subject as they were 
joined by Mrs. Pendleton, they enjoyed the even- 
ing in valued conversation. The time passed 
much too rapidly for them all and the hour of 
retiring was reached quite too soon, though pro- 


MR. HALE AT THE PENDLETONS 


91 


tracted beyond its usual time by the attractive 
considerations of the moment. Before rising 
from his chair upon the porch which was dimly 
lighted by the heavy, artistically wrought iron 
lamp stationed at the arch of the winding drive 
before the steps, Mr. Hale, turning to Mrs. Pen- 
dleton, remarked, “I have expressed my regret at 
the necessity of my sudden departure, but I ex- 
perience it in no small measure from my inability 
to meet your son.” 

Mrs. Pendleton spoke with fondness as she 
replied, “Indeed, I share your disappointment, 
Mr. Hale. I, too, had counted upon your meet- 
ing Arthur and I intended to send up to The 
Place for him tomorrow. I know that you would 
like him and that he would be much attracted to 
you. He is a wonderful boy, Mr. Hale, if you 
will please let a fond mother boast a little, and 
both Mr. Pendleton and myself, as you can well 
imagine, are very proud of him.” 

“Your boasting is very warranted,” replied 
Mr. Hale; “you remember I told you of the in- 
teresting glimpse I caught of him on my way to 
the village and I assure you that I sincerely feel 
the impression his fine appearance made upon 
me, and I beg to say that the splendid qualities 
I judged him to possess, and which I have inti- 
mated to you in my brief estimate of him while 


92 


ALICIA 


at dinner, were most happily borne out by the 
voluntary testimony of the people of the village 
whom I have met during my sojourn here. I 
promise myself the pleasure of seeing him at 
some time in the future. Is this his last year at 
Andover ?” he inquired. 

“Yes,” she replied. “He takes his examinations 
for Yale in the Spring, and will enter college next 
autumn. We do miss him so when he is away 
at school that I cannot contemplate that long 
college course with any complaisancy whatever. 
But mothers’ heartstrings have to endure these 
strains I presume, and there is nothing to be 
gained by repining.” 

“I was up to The Place to see Arthur yesterday,” 
she continued. “He has been there for the past 
week training some of the horses. I am always 
worried that some of those spirited animals will 
injure him some day, but the Captain laughs at 
my fears. He says that he is worried for fear 
that Arthur will injure some of his horses. But I 
know he will not, for he has the kindest heart of 
any boy in the world. And I presume I am foolish to 
worry about him, he is such a fine horseman. He 
is very fond of athletics, you know. The Captain 
has encouraged it, for he feels that a strong physique 
is a proper habitation for a lofty spirit, and Arthur 
has learned to value courage as a signal virtue. 


MR. HALE AT THE PENDELTONS 


93 


‘‘I fear you will think I am very selfish, Mr. 
Hale,” Mrs. Pendleton continued. “I have talked 
so much about Arthur ever since you came. 
You will forgive me, will you not ?” she asked. 

“I assure you, Mrs. Pendleton,” Mr. Hale re- 
plied, “that I have enjoyed every word we have 
spoken about your son. I feel strongly attracted 
to him and I know that he is worthy of your pride 
and devotion. You know that our daughter is 
our only child, and I feel that in telling you of her 
I unrestrainedly gave way to the great love I bear 
her. These emotions of a parent’s heart are the 
dearest of existence and their free play is in 
accordance with the law of nature.” 

“I thank you so much for saying so, Mr. Hale,” 
replied Mrs. Pendleton. “I am so prone to yield 
to the natural inclinations of the heart that I feel 
sometimes in confiict with the rigid rules of 
society that forbid them.” 

“Man has much yet to learn from Nature,” 
replied Mr. Hale; “and he who studies her most 
is apt to discover wisdom vouchsafed only to her 
votaries. You cannot tell me too much of 
Arthur, and were not the hour so late I would 
gratify my temptation to learn more about him.” 

As they rose to retire for the night and before 
good-night was spoken Mrs. Pendleton addressed 
her guest once more as they stood in the hallway 


94 


ALICIA 


at the foot of the broad staircase, and speaking 
with a pleasant smile, she said, “It occurs to me 
that in all I have learned of your daughter in this 
brief visit, Mr. Hale, you have not yet acquainted 
me with her name. Do you realize that you have 
not told me the name of your sweet child ?” 

In a voice of fondness Mr. Hale replied, “Her 
name is Alicia. Do you like it 

“Alicia,” she said; “it is beautiful.” And then 
sweetly and lingeringly she spake again in tender 
tones, “Alicia.” 


JOHN LAKELEY'S DAUGHTER 


95 


CHAPTER X. 

JOHN lakelet’s daughter. 

In the early part of the year 1850 there was 
living in an English cathedral town a family by 
the name of Landseer. They were a hardy type 
of the English tenant farmer, but bore evidences 
of a more general intelligence and training than 
ordinarily prevails among people of that class. The 
family consisted of Robert Landseer and wife, 
with whom there dwelt John Lakeley, the brother 
of the latter, who had resided with them since the 
death of their parents a short time before. The 
brother was of a roving disposition and rarely 
made the Landseer fireside know his presence, 
although it was the one place he called home. 
Robert Landseer was a young man who a few 
years after reaching his majority married the 
daughter of the clergyman attached to the church 
of the adjoining hamlet, and whom he had known 
for years and who, in fact, had been his playmate 
in childhood. She was a gentle girl and with her 
brother had received an excellent English educa- 
tion under the tutorship of their father, the 
Reverend Lawrence Lakeley. Having been at- 


96 


ALICIA 


traded by the advantages of America, Robert 
Landseer had settled in one of the New England 
states, and after a time, learning of the fertile 
lands further towards the West, he sought a home 
beyond the Hudson. 

In that portion of New York state that lies 
several hundred miles to the northwest of tide- 
water and about a half-day’s journey to the 
shores of Canada, there is a region that seems to 
have been especially favored by nature for the 
benefit and delight of man. With its sweeping 
hills and fertile valleys, its equable climate and 
charming seasons, its numerous lakes with their 
crystal waters and wooded shores, this favored 
bit of territory early attracted settlers coming 
into this newer region looking for a home. Robert 
Landseer, having learned of the attractiveness of 
this territory, was drawn to the spot as much by its 
beauty, which vies with the more renowned 
scenery of the great domain justly called the 
Empire State, as he was by the generous fertility 
of the soil. The clear waters of the lake, the rich 
soil of the valley, and the luxuriant grasses of the 
hills, and the varied view of valley, hill, and sky, 
with changing mood of inconstant lake contributed 
such promise of generous store and picturesque- 
ness of scene that it determined many a one to 
choose there a site for a home; and Robert Land- 


JOHN LAKELEY’S DAUGHTER 


97 


seer coming from the East had located a farm of 
two hundred acres upon the shores of the largest 
of the beautiful lakes in which the region abounds. 

A son having been born to Mr. Landseer and 
wife shortly after their establishment there, they 
bestowed upon him the name of John Lakeley 
Landseer, naming him after their brother, John 
Lakeley, whom they had not heard from for years, 
and whom now they felt they would never see 
again. They found neighbors fast settling in 
the region and by a natural process they early 
formed the acquaintance of their nearest neighbor 
on the shore of the lake, at the foot of which the 
small hamlet of Canassaga was assuming the 
aspect of a small village. The family consisted 
of Charles Blake and wife and little son, Edmund, 
of about the same age as young Landseer. They 
grew up together and became schoolmates and 
play-fellows. 

Robert Landseer was a man of principle, and 
while he had not an education in any respect, he 
had a naturally bright mind and was a close 
reader of the current topics of the time. His 
tolerant spirit inclined his ear to the teachings 
of Clarkson and Wilberforce; and to that great 
commoner, John Bright, he was especially at- 
tracted, in whose person he was fain to see again 
“a man sent by God whose name was John.’’ 

7 


ALICIA 


His interest in the slavery question thus caused 
him after his settlement in America to watch the 
growing events of the time with careful apprecia- 
tion, and after the fall of Sumter, although an 
Englishman, he warmly espoused the cause of the 
North. Finally a company being raised in his 
section of New York state to supply the depletion 
of a regiment that had seen hard service in the 
field, his ardent principles compelled him to 
enlist, and leaving his home with saddened heart, 
he soon found himself on Southern battlefields. 
Receiving a commission for valor in the field, 
which he declined on the ground of his brief 
service and that many men who had borne the 
brunt of battle long before he had left his pleasant 
home beside the lake were more entitled to it, he 
was already, with the march of events, looking 
forward to the close of the war when he was 
captured while bearing despatches, and im- 
prisoned at Andersonville, where he soon sickened 
and died. His remains were sent home to be 
interred in the cemetery at Canassaga, and his 
wife as she looked over the pleasant scenery of 
her home that her husband loved so well, realized 
that her hope and joy of future years lay in her 
son who was growing into a healthy, manly boy 
and showing a devotion to his mother that cheered 
her saddened heart with its intensity. 


JOHN LAKELET’S DAUGHTER 


99 


The difference between her son and his play- 
mate, young Blake, became marked as the years 
went on. They did not resemble each other in 
the slightest particular. John Landseer was a 
big, slow-going youngster, who studied hard and 
cared more for study than play. Edmund Blake 
on the contrary was a slender, rather small lad, 
quick and active, who seemed to care for books 
not at all and quite unhappy unless engaged in 
some lively diversion. John grew up to like 
work as well as study and pushed his sturdy 
endeavors towards valued achievement. He 
found a satisfaction in the fields and the woods, 
and the constantly changing scene of nature’s 
shifting canvas in the lovely region in which they 
dwelt, developed a sincere love for the natural and 
the beautiful. Working on the farm in summer 
and teaching school in winter and pushing along 
in his studies and labors in every odd hour at his 
disposal, he progressed towards that period of life 
where he found his ambition to enter Yale college 
realized. This had been accomplished only after 
a hard struggle, as the straitened circumstances 
of his mother had made many heroic labors on his 
part necessary to carry on the farm and pursue 
his studies and prepare a way, at least in part, for 
his college course, and the conduct of the farm in 
his absence. 


L»f C. 


100 


ALICIA 


But the farm was rich and seemed to co-operate 
with the boy and his mother in making possible 
this plan so dear to both their hearts. And when 
he left her in the fall to enter his freshman year 
his sturdy heart weakened at the anguish of 
parting with his mother, and her grief as he drove 
away would have caused him to surrender his 
cherished plan if she would have permitted it. 

In the meantime his old schoolfellow had fol- 
lowed the bent of his inclination and caring noth- 
ing for the work of the farm which he had un- 
willingly followed as a schoolboy at home, and 
not having a mind to read the open book of nature 
held up before him, he ere long found himself 
with eagerness learning the mystery that lurks 
in figures, at a business college in a growing town 
in the county adjoining his home. Finishing his 
course there he bade farewell to his parents and 
securing a position in a large milling establish- 
ment in the thriving City of the Lakes, made that 
city ever after liis home. 

With only the rudiments of an education and 
without experience of any kind except that which 
falls to the usual country lad, Edmund Blake, 
notwithstanding, possessed an unusual faculty 
of absorption that brought to his possession much 
knowledge of considerable value. He was ever 
on the alert for a gain in business experience and 


JOHN LAKELEY^S DAUGHTER 


101 


knowledge, and anything that might contribute 
to such fund received his ardent attention. As 
he gained business experience his mind acquired 
the daring of originality of a most successful kind. 
He developed a brightness and versatility in busi- 
ness matters that showed him to be possessed of 
faculties of an unusual order. His ambition to 
establish himself in business having been gratified 
by an opportunity that had presented itself and 
which he had been quick to seize, he worked with 
energy and gratifying success towards the accu- 
mulation of a fortune. 

With his success in business came his desire 
for acquaintance and social connections and he 
now began to give more attention to matters of 
this nature. He became fond of society, and out- 
door sports that had the character of social func- 
tions. While rather cold in his demeanor and 
conservative in his temperament, his earnestness 
and good taste in social matters and his apparent 
good-will and desire to make himself agreeable, 
with a careful attention, which was natural to him, 
to details, and the strict observance of the small 
rules that society requires from her adherents, 
caused him to be well received; and his sincere 
devotion to the sports in which he engaged made 
him popular with the people whom he met. His 
acquaintanceship extended, and he found himself 


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feeling well established in the City of the 
Lakes. 

A considerable time prior to the departure of 
Robert Landseer and his wife from England, 
their brother, John Lakeley, had made his way to 
Milford Haven, the nearest seaport town, and 
taken passage in a ship bound for the Eldorado 
of the new world. Sailing around the Horn, he 
finally arrived at the Golden Gate of the Pacific 
slope and making his way to the gold fields, he 
acquired the practical knowledge of the miner, 
but met with slight success in obtaining gold. 
Drifting to San Francisco, he became attached to 
the assay office, working there under governmental 
authority, and realizing a natural bent in that 
direction he followed the study of minerals until 
he became skilled as a metallurgist. Attracted 
again to the fields by the new discoveries in that 
rich territory saved to America from the north- 
west British possessions by the hardy and pa- 
triotic Lewis and Clark, in the course of his ex- 
plorations in the territory of Washington he 
discovered a deposit of a metal with which he was 
entirely unfamiliar. 

Taking samples of the metal with him, he 
returned to San Francisco, where with the facil- 
ities of the laboratory at hand once more, he found 
that he had discovered the rare metal molybdenum. 


JOHN LAKELEY^S DAUGHTER 


103 


which in England he knew was prized as an in- 
gredient in a process for hardening steel, but which 
had not come into use to any extent on account 
of the rarity and cost of the metal. Returning 
to the locality of his discovery, he found that two 
Englishmen, attracted to the section from over 
the Canadian border by the reports of gold, had 
discovered the same deposit of molybdenum and 
knowing its value, had taken up the land. It 
proved to be deposited in limited quantities, and 
his further search failing to reveal the slightest 
trace of more ore, he believed that the statement 
of the books that the metal was very rare and 
limited in its deposits, was borne out by the facts 
of the situation. Having met with no success in 
all his prospecting operations, he turned his foot- 
steps to the less known regions of the British pos- 
sessions of the north. 

Ill luck still attended him, and worn out by 
hardship and disappointment, he was about to 
give up in despair when he chanced to learn from 
an Indian guide to whom he had rendered a favor 
that the curious metal which he carried in his 
pocket as a keepsake was deposited in great quan- 
tities in a rough and isolated section of Eastern 
Canada. The vast quantities of the metal as 
tiescribed by the Indian caused him to have no 
faith in the story, but nevertheless being possessed 


104 


ALICIA 


by a growing desire to visit England again he 
made his way towards the East, and the spot 
described. Arriving there, his trained eye im- 
mediately appreciated that he had made a dis- 
covery of importance. The ground was rich 
with metal — it cropped out in ore that was almost 
pure molybdenum in heavy layers. The deposit 
was worth, he saw, an untold fortune. Making 
his way to Montreal, he took the necessary steps 
to secure the mineral rights of the land. Excited 
by his discovery, he abandoned the idea of re- 
turning to England for the present, when sud- 
denly and without warning he fell violently ill. 
“Brain fever,” the doctor at the hospital said, 
“caused by exposure and excitement. No chance 
for recovery.” 

The nurse that attended him was of the type 
that clings fast to the rule “don’t surrender — you 
can always do that.” She therefore cared for 
him assiduously night and day until finally he was 
convalescent. Marriage followed, and then in 
time came a baby girl to cheer the frail mother for 
the brief period of a year till she died. With his 
motherless child John Lakeley sought in an Eng- 
lish ship a passage home, expecting to place his 
daughter in the care of his sister’s family, not 
having learned by reason of his wanderings that 
they had immigrated to America some years before. 


JOHN LAKELEY^S DAUGHTER 


105 


Never of a strong constitution and weakened by 
his hardships and exposure through a series of 
years, and shattered by his illness and the shock 
of his wife’s recent death, he became shortly after 
sailing seriously ill; and growing worse and with 
a presentiment that he would never see his native 
land again, in his last moments he confided his 
little girl to the care of the captain of the vessel. 
That night the ship foundered at sea. The name 
of the ship was the Lady Luthie. 


106 


ALICIA 


CHAPTER XI. 

COLLEGE DAYS. 

The impressionable nature of Arthur made 
him susceptible, with his general characteristics 
of heart and mind, to the best influences of college 
life, and he escaped its many evil tendencies. 
He already had a mind showing power and train- 
ing under his zealous and thorough course of the 
preliminary curriculum of the schools which 
enabled him, with his hereditary instincts, his 
largeness of thought, his home training, and 
tendency of his aims to procure cultural ad- 
vantages from his college course of which the 
ordinary student was not capable, and in fact 
had very little appreciation of at all. 

The whole course of his existence had been 
unconsciously fitting him for the best realization 
of the advantages now lavishingly surrounding 
him, and his home life and teaching contributed 
in a great degree to his well-being in his new 
life. 

And so he was ready to receive in this college 
world of romance such inspiration, and such 
unfoldment of a threefold character — of body. 


COLLEGE DAYS 


107 


soul, and mind — and at a time in life when such 
influences become gifts for perpetual good, that 
made him feel, as he realized it, that he had dis- 
covered the much-sought-for Utopia of Sir Thomas 
More. 

From the refinements of his mother’s mind 
with its vast store of knowledge, from her good 
taste, philosophical tinge of advanced thought, 
the beauty of her spirit and gentleness of her 
being and also from the liberality of his father’s 
rugged mind, his courage, integrity, generosity 
and simple tastes, he had throughout the period 
of his youth drawn influences for his development, 
and preparation for that advancement which a 
college education promises to those wise enough 
to receive it, of the most fitting and enduring 
character. His constant communion with his 
parents during his home life had created a con- 
tinual consideration of and a highly interesting, 
discourse concerning the wide field of men and 
manners, books and periods, nature and philos- 
ophy, with a due attention to the practical affairs 
and common-place virtues of every day life such 
as few families, unfortunately, are able to afford. 
All this tended towards his singular development, 
and as he entered into college life he was able 
to perceive and appreciate the mysterious in- 
fluence of the greatness of the thought and knowl- 


108 


ALICIA 


edge that had been gathered from all periods and 
places for his consideration and benefit, and he 
felt his pulses throbbing as did the ancients, he 
imagined, as they sipped the inspiring waters of 
Castalia. 

He had many warm friends among the stu- 
dents, and found a number to whom he was 
closely drawn. He found a growing attachment 
for a classmate by the name of John Lakeley 
Landseer, whose home was in the lake region of 
New York state, and they became roommates 
and chums. John Landseer early developed a 
popularity, not only in his class, but in the college 
at large, that was most pleasing to Arthur. He 
was a big, brawny fellow and fond of athletics in 
which, with the skillful training afforded the stu- 
dents at Yale, he soon excelled. One who is 
successful in athletics at college is always assured 
of popularity, and John Landseer was no excep- 
tion to the rule. He was withal such a good 
fellow, with a sturdy honesty and a generous 
heart, which characteristics revealed themselves 
in his frank, cheerful countenance, that he easily 
became the central figure in his class, with one 
exception — and that was Arthur. The latter, 
too, was prominent in athletics, but had hot 
given to the contested events which attract 
attention, the close devotion that seemed to 


COLLEGE DAYS 


109 


have been required from his chum' by popular 
demand. 

Notwithstanding, he worked unceasingly and 
systematically in the gymnasium, and in the field 
events, and on the water, and developed his 
already fine physique to admirable proportions 
of strength and symmetry. The two young men 
worked together at their studies, though John 
could not keep pace with Arthur in his wide range 
of achievement. But they were both moved by 
the same ambition and earnest endeavors and they 
found their association of great mutual benefit 
and enjoyment. 

Jack, as he was familiarly known in college, 
and whose popularity had grown since he stroked 
his class boat to victory in his freshman year, was 
obliged to work in various ways, often in the 
professors’ gardens, or in the laboratories as 
assistant at demonstrations to eke out his limited 
income. His vacations were spent at home, 
where he worked on the farm with the energy of a 
giant as though he would do a year’s work in 
the few months vouchsafed him. The joy of his 
mother at his home-coming was -equalled by his 
own happiness, and she witnessed his growing 
development with the keenness of vision and 
rapture of heart such as a mothesr only knows. 
He was her hope and strength, her joy and pride> 


no 


ALICIA 


and as she looked forward to his return from 
college at the end of his course with his honors 
fresh upon him, which in her fond motherly pride 
she thought of wondrous greatness, to take up 
his life work which it had always been decided 
should be upon the home acres to which they 
were both so strongly attached, the future pre- 
sented to her view no other picture than unalloyed 
happiness. 

One afternoon towards the close of the junior 
year Arthur entered his study and addressing 
Jack, said gayly, “Well, Jack, I have a letter from 
my mother and she says I must positively insist 
upon your long-deferred acceptance of her invita- 
tion to come home with me.” 

“You know, Arthur, how much I have desired 
to visit your home but it has hardly been possible 
for me to do so.” 

“But, Jack, you must accept now. You will 
disappoint mother, and besides there are two 
young ladies who will be doubly disappointed.” 

“Two young ladies?” repeated Jack wonder- 
ingly. 

“Yes,” replied Arthur, “Vivian and Luthie.” 

“Oh,” said Jack mechanically, who had still 
thought of them as little girls. 

“They have learned that you are a prodigy of 
valor and erudition,” continued Arthur lightly. 


COLLEGE DAYS 


111 


“Mother writes that both of the girls are home, 
and that they are expecting you to come with me. 
It would be cruel to blight their young lives, Jack, 
by longer withholding your heroic self from their 
admiring gaze.” 

“Spare me, Arthur,” said Jack good naturedly. 

“Give me your acceptance and I will,” said 
Arthur.” 

“You have that, for I have decided to accept 
the invitation. You know how gladly I would 
have done so ere this had it been a possibility.” 

“I will write mother immediately, and will for 
once make good news travel fast,” and sitting 
at his study table Arthur was at once engrossed 
in the letter to his mother which he prepared to 
carry to the post, and as he reached for hat and 
cane, which latter now graced the dignity of his 
position as an upper classman, he said to Jack, 
“What a radical old Diggles is.” 

“He has a good mind,” returned Jack, “and 
what is best of all, the courage of his convictions. 
Courage is a splendid virtue,” he added feelingly. 

“Old Diggles claimed it was the greatest, unless 
we except sentiment. He was holding forth in 
his earnest way down on the steps of the chemical 
lab. and I joined the fellows to listen to him for a 
moment.” 

“What was the matter?” asked Jack. 


112 


ALICIA 


“Well, it happened that Packerton had offered 
to bet ten dollars that old Jimmie Colliver would 
run before he reached the chapel. Diggles was 
standing by and he made the bet to him.” 

“Which Packerton?” interrupted Jack. 

“Chicago,” answered Arthur, giving him the 
appellation by which he was distinguished from 
another student of the same name. “Diggles 
declined the bet, and made some remark about 
the senseless practice, and you know what a 
fellow Packerton is to bet — he bets on everything. 
Well, Diggles replied to him and before long they 
were engaged in an earnest discussion.” 

The collegians had been referring to a habit 
of Professor Colliver, which was that of breaking 
into a run while walking, before he had gone any 
appreciable distance. His mind was always so 
deeply engaged upon some original and abstruse 
mathematical problem, that by a sort of sympa- 
thetic relation his body would endeavor to keep 
pace with his thoughts by propelling him forward 
at times at a sharp gait. 

“What was it that Diggles said about sentiment 
and courage?” Jack asked, referring to the sub- 
ject again. 

“Oh, they branched off in a pretty warm dis- 
cussion. Diggles claimed that the college, as a 
general proposition, did more harm than good. 


COLLEGE DAYS 


113 


He said that there were very few students fitted 
either by training or nature to pursue a college 
course with any benefit, and to many it was a 
positive harm. He said the ordinary student had 
no appreciation of his advantages, and he said he 
never sat in a lecture in the anatomical lab. with- 
out thinking that Doc. Wildare’s skeleton, that he 
has in his case, is grinning at the ridiculous efforts 
of the ridiculous off-spring of ambitious parents 
who have determined that their children shall 
have an education, whether or no.” 

“Higgles is a little severe sometimes, and sar- 
castic, too,” said Jack laughing. 

“He grew quite eloquent,” continued Arthur. 
“All the fellows listened and didn’t try to guy him 
except Packerton, who did at first, before they got 
into a more serious discussion. Higgles said that 
in the majority of fellows there is an entire 
absence of sentiment which he claimed was the 
greatest virtue except courage of which mankind 
is capable, and that they never have the slightest 
possibility of understanding the definition of the 
word culture. Such fellows, he said, blundered 
through college like the proverbial bull through 
the china shop, smashing the delicate Sevres to 
fragments. The water runs no more easily from 
the duck’s back than they escape the infiuences 
for the true and beautiful from college cloistered 


114 


ALICIA 


walls. Diggles claimed that sentiment had 
accomplished all the great movements of the 
world. Packerton denied it and asserted that 
necessity was the mainspring. The argument 
became heated, and finally Packerton lost his 
temper and he seemed to refer in a personal way 
to Diggles’ necessities, which I saw hurt him very 
much. Diggles had come out pretty sharply upon 
the question of idle vices which Packerton thought 
bore heavily upon his betting, but as I saw the 
discussion getting warm I drew Diggles’ attention 
to me by asking if it were not a good thing to try, 
even if one did not succeed.” 

“What did Diggles say to that ?” asked Jack. 

“ ‘Not always,’ said old Diggles, “but he hoped 
that in time these conditions would right them- 
selves; that only those who can appreciate their 
sheepskin would get it; that the people would 
learn that it is nobler to live by one’s brains and 
hands than by one’s wits, and that culture and 
education to the many are more possible in the 
home, the fields, the shops, and the various walks 
of life than in college halls, if a sincere desire for 
such achievement once obtains. I ended the dis- 
cussion by making the announcement that Billy 
Ruggles can’t play in the game tomorrow.” 

“Can’t play in the game tomorrow ?” exclaimed 
Jack in consternation. “What’s the matter?” 


COLLEGE DAYS 


115 


“He has sprained his wrist,” said Arthur. 

“That settles the game,” replied Jack. “We 
lose, that’s all.” 

“Packerton stopped the talk at once and he 
walked up to the hall with me. He’s feeling 
badly, I tell you. He told me in confidence, 
except to you since you are my chum and on the 
team, that he had bet his last quarter’s allowance 
that he just got from home on the game tomorrow.” 

“How much is it ?” said Jack. 

“One thousand dollars,” replied Arthur. 

‘‘ ‘Billy’s batting would have won the game, but 
now it’s all off,’ is what Packerton said to me. 
He is very penitent now and he says he will have 
to send to his father for another draft for the 
same amount, for that is the very least he can put 
on his debts and he will have to show up the 
whole thing to his father, and that settles his 
degree, for his father, he says, will take him out of 
college. I am sorry for him — a senior next year, 
too. It’s had one good effect anyhow, because 
he says he will never bet again — says he will quit 
gambling forever. He feels awfully broken up 
about it. It seems hard luck now that he is 
through with the habit that it has got to spoil his 
course and make him lose his degree.” 

“Who goes on in Billy’s place ?” asked Jack. 

“Old Higgles,” Arthur replied. 


116 


ALICIA 


“Diggles,” exclaimed Jack. “Why, he never 
hit a ball in his life. We lose, that’s certain, and 
Packerton’s stuck; and think of it, Arthur, the 
deciding game of the championship, too. It’s 
too bad.” And Jack with gloomy countenance 
walked back and forth in the little study as he 
thought of the disaster of the morrow. 

The day of the ball game that was to decide the 
championship of the season between Yale and 
Harvard dawned bright and clear. The interest 
was intense, and long before the hour for the game 
the field began to be filled with an increasing 
throng of people until finally as the hour ap- 
proached it was seen that the numbers in attend- 
ance, would surpass any event of similar character 
that had ever been held in New Haven. 

Higgles was a stout, big youth and a classmate 
of Jack and Arthur. He had come from a New 
England farm, and was working his way through 
college. He was an earnest, honest youth with 
ideas considered radical by many, but well liked 
for his simple, rugged nature. He was fond of 
out-door sports and particularly baseball, and 
was a substitute on the university team. He 
played in the outfield where he was the most 
skillful player in college, but at the bat he was 
worthless; for some reason it was an impossibility 
for him to strike the ball. He seemed to be 


COLLEGE DAYS 


117 


hypnotized when standing at the plate, and 
always was retired without a run to his credit 
by missing the sphere altogether or having the 
required strikes called by the umpire. 

The game proved the closest and most exciting 
that had ever occurred in the long athletic history 
of Yale. In the last inning the score stood three 
to two in favor of Harvard, when Yale came to the 
bat for the last time. Harvard had finished and 
with another whitewash for Yale, which seemed 
easy to add to the list so quickly obtained during 
the rapid moments of the past nine innings, the 
championship banner would grace fair Harvard’s 
trophy room. 

By a desperate effort Yale had gotten three 
men safely on bases, but at a cost of two men out. 
The excitement was intense. One more man out 
and the three men would be left on bases, with 
their side retired and the game closed in Har- 
vard’s favor. Eagerly every eye sought the score 
card to see what man was to step into place and 
snatch, perchance, victory from defeat by some 
splendid endeavor; and a groan of despair went 
up from the adherents of Yale as they saw that 
old Higgles was next at the bat. His name was 
called and he took his place amidst breathless 
silence, and as his big, strong physique showed 
to its full advantage as he stood there in the after- 


118 


ALICIA 


noon sun many a mind had the same thought of 
little Guy Chalmers, who was scoring for Yale, 
when he audibly moaned, “If old Diggles only 
could hit it once.” But that such hope was in 
vain was apparent to all not only by past record 
of failure on the part of poor Diggles, but by the 
fact that two strikes were already charged up to 
him before the crowd or he himself could realize it. 
The captain of the team had cautioned him as he 
stood there pale with excitement and the respon- 
sibility that rested upon him, with his honest 
face filled with a commingled look of yearning, 
determination, and despair, to “wait till you get 
’em where you want ’em,” and remembering, 
he stood there waiting until a strike was called 
on him by the umpire. Flustered by this he 
struck wildly at the next ball, which was far 
out of his reach. With one strike left to his credit 
and with hope all gone, the crowd saw a ball come 
true over the plate, and dumbfounded they saw 
the flash of old Diggles’ bat as his powerful arms 
swung it in air in one last desperate effort, and 
they heard the crash of his bat as it struck the 
ball full and fair and sent it far out over the out- 
field into the long grass beyond. 

Such a shout of joy never rose from that field 
before as the three men tore around the bases to 
the homeplate to make the score five runs in favor 


COLLEGE DAYS 


119 


of Yale, while old Diggles stood in amazement 
looking at the soaring ball, until called to his 
senses by the command of the captain of the 
team, when in obedience thereto he started for the 
base, and in his excitement carried his bat with 
him, and coming safely to the homeplate added 
another run to the score, while Yale cheered and 
laughed in its joy, and the crowd surging onto the 
diamond took old Diggles on its shoulders and 
the game ended then and there, though the cheer- 
ing and shouting continued until it seemed that 
it would never cease. One of the first men to 
reach old Diggles and throw his arms about him 
was Packerton and as the crowd surged about 
them he whispered, “Forgive me, old man.*’ 
“It’s all right, Pack,” Diggles replied. “It was 
my fault as much as yours.” 

As Jack was getting out of his ball clothes 
Arthur came in and calling to him said, “What a 
great game. Jack; let us end the year with this 
glorious victory. We will go in the morning if 
agreeable to you.” 

“I shall be ready, Arthur,” Jack replied. 

The next morning, after a night that gave them 
little sleep, they left for home. Just before the 
train drew out of the station Packerton came 
hastily along the platform and reaching up to 
Arthur said in low tones, “I wanted to tell you. 


120 


ALICIA 


Pendleton, that I split even on my bet. I gave 
the Harvard man his money and kept my own 
one thousand. He wouldn’t take it at first, but I 
told him the whole business about old Higgles 
and all. He said I was the whitest Yale man 
he’d ever met, but I told him no, it was Biggies.” 

The train started and with a quick clasp of the 
hand, Arthur and Jack left him, and as they sped 
on towards home they felt their hearts grow 
heavy at leaving old Yale, but they cheered their 
drooping spirits by recounting the stirring scenes 
of the glorious victory of the day before, and 
dwelt on the achievement of old Biggies who, 
literally by one stroke, had leaped into fame. 


RALPH^S SHIP COMES SAILING HOME 121 


CHAPTER XII 

Ralph’s ship comes sailing home. 

As the train drew into the station at Porter’s 
Falls, Jack saw standing on the platform a short, 
stout man with a round, mild face looking be- 
nignly out from under the broad brim of a drab, 
felt hat. As Arthur stepped from the train the 
man started with surprise, and a smile of genuine 
gladness came into his face as he hurriedly stepped 
forward on his stout, short legs, which evidently 
were much more at home on the box seat of the 
old yellow coach than bearing Silas Craig, for he 
it was, at such an unaccustomed gait. Arthur 
greeted him heartily, and after an earnest enquiry 
concerning those at home, he introduced Jack, 
whom Silas regarded with much respect and 
interest as he put his chubby hand into the firm 
one of the athlete. 

‘T’ve heerd Arthur tell ’bout ye often,” said 
Silas. ‘T want to know if you’re the same one as 
won the race with a broken seat as wouldn’t slide ?” 

“Guess I am,” laughed Jack with true Yankee 
vernacular. “I hope Arthur has not been telling 
much about me. I don’t deserve it.” 


122 


ALICIA 


“Well, he’s told me quite a bit ’bout you,” Silas 
replied. 

“Well I shall have to forgive him, for he has 
been good enough to tell me quite a bit about you 
also.” 

Silas chuckled as he heard these words. 

“We should become acquainted without any 
difficulty,” continued Jack. 

“You’ll get on famously, I know,” interrupted 
Arthur. “You must keep the front seat for us, 
Silas. Let us help you with the baggage,” 

It took but a short time to get the trunks in 
place with such other luggage as Silas had for 
the trip, and to arrange to their satisfaction the 
inside seats for the other passengers; and mount- 
ing to the box seat, which barely held the three, 
notwithstanding its generous width, the coach 
started for Portsmouth. 

Silas had watched the development of Arthur 
with considerable pride, and the early friendship 
between them had been maintained in spite of 
his absence. The first time Arthur had returned 
from college Silas was quite abashed at the sudden 
appearance of the tall, broad-shouldered young 
fellow wearing easily a distinctive air of impor- 
tance, but the cheery salutation of his old favorite 
removed his embarrassment, and soon he saw 
that he was the same cordial friend as of old. 


RALPH'S SHIP COMES SAILING HOME 123 


And thus their relations were renewed which had 
existed, as Silas fondly recollected, from the time 
that Arthur as a little, toddling fellow had sat 
upon the front seat of the coach with him, and 
whom he had held in place by his stout, oaken 
whipstock thrown across the lad’s sturdy little 
chest, as the coach rocked and swayed at the 
breakers occurring occasionally in the road. 

As they rolled along towards home they en- 
gaged in conversation in which Jack at times 
joined, but to which he more often became an 
interested listener. As they passed a wide, flat 
place through which the river flowed, which 
could be seen through the trees lining the bank 
of the declivity along which ran the road, Arthur 
remarked, “There’s the old tree still standing, 
Silas, where we caught the beavers.” 

“It surely is,” Silas replied with heartiness. 
“It’s good for many a year yet. I keep an eye 
out for it most ev’ry time I come along. Here’s 
where we hitched the boss that mornin’,” he said, 
indicating with a nod of his head an opening in a 
little grove through which they were passing. 

“I remember it so well,” said Arthur. 

“And here’s the path we tuk down to the 
marsh,” said Silas, his face glowing at the 
recollection of the events of which they were 
speaking. 


124 


ALICIA 


“And do you remember, Silas, how frightened 
you were when I called to you that I had caught a 
woodchuck, you fearing that I would be bitten, 
and how relieved you were when you saw it was 
a tiny chipmunk for I had gotten the names 
mixed in my excitement.” 

“ ’Course I do,” laughed Silas. “And I re- 
member how pleased Luthie was with the chip- 
munk, and was so tender hearted that she set it 
free.” 

“What did you do with the beavers?” asked 
Jack, who had been listening interestedly. 

“Oh, we let them go. You see we didn't catch 
them; we only treed them,” answered Arthur 
laughing. 

“Treed them?” echoed Jack mystified. 

“Silas will tell you about it,” said Arthur 
merrily. “I was such a young lad I can’t re- 
member it as well as he. I have a general recol- 
lection of it all, and the good day we had.” 

“Let me hear about it, Mr. Craig,” Jack re- 
quested. Glancing at his watch to note the 
passing time, Silas thought for a moment and 
then began in his slow, drawling manner. 

“When Arthur was a little chap me and him 
used to have many a trip together. One day we 
druv out here and went to get some chestnuts 
down there on the flats. We hitched our boss 


RALPirS SHIP COMES SAILING HOME 125 


where I showed you, and taking a big bag with 
us, we went down the path there, with Luthie’s 
dog, which we’d brung with us, a nosin’ along 
ahead. He was a fine big hound that the cap’n 
had fetched from England when he was a leetle 
puppy. The first thing we knowed he started 
a couple of beavers there outen the marsh, and 
though I yelled at him I couldn’t get him back, 
and away they went like all get out. Me and 
Arthur followed arter ’em as fast as we cud, and 
finally we found the hound at the foot of that ole 
pine I showed ye, bayin’ fur good, and the beavers 
up in the tree with their shiny eyes an’ long black 
noses, hangin’ down from the crotch of the first 
limb—” 

“Up in the tree?” interrupted Jack. “Why 
beavers can’t climb trees!” he exclaimed. 

“These beavers did,” asserted Silas firmly. 
“They had to climb the tree, — the dog was 
crowdin’ ’em so.” 

Arthur laughed in unrestrained merriment, in 
which Jack after an instant joined, which act 
drove entirely from his face the puzzled look of a 
moment before. Silas retained his usual gravity, 
though he smiled slightly at the evident enjoy- 
ment and good spirits of the collegians. And so 
with many an exchange of enquiiy or relation of 
anecdote and reminiscence, the stage drew into 


126 


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the village and reached the bridge as the bell 
in the church steeple sounded five strokes of the 
hour. 

The week allotted to his stay passed all too 
quickly, and Jack found himself enjoying every 
moment of it. The warmth of his welcome by 
Captain and Mrs. Pendleton, both of whom he 
had frequently met at Yale, had been anticipated, 
and he found the plans for his entertainment 
crowding his confined limits of a week to the full. 
Boating and riding, with long drives for the enjoy- 
ment of vistas of unusual charm, with social 
entertainment at the Pendleton home and else- 
where, engaged the attention of the young men 
who gave themselves up to the keen enjoyment 
of the hour. The presence of Luthie and Vivian, 
whom he had known so well from earliest child- 
hood, seemed to Arthur a happy circumstance, 
as it afforded an opportunity for friends dear to 
him to be known to each other. Vivian had 
been spending some time with Mrs. Pendleton, 
and Luthie was rarely away from home except 
upon her occasional visits to Boston made in the 
course of musical studies. 

Their young womanhood revealed the promised 
differences of early childhood, both as to their 
physical and mental natures. Luthie was fair, 
with a sweet face of prenatural graveness upon 


RALPHS SHIP COMES SAILING HOME 127 


which a smile of merriment rarely came, and 
then but for a moment, to light her face with 
beauty as she smiled. She was slightly un- 
happy in her disposition, but her temperament 
was serene and calm and her spirit kind and 
gentle. She had a tender heart, and a mind that 
inclined her to books and study, which had been 
the enjoyment of her young life. She was affec- 
tionately attached to Captain and Mrs. Pendleton 
and in fact to the latter had given her strong 
devotion. Vivian was strikingly opposite to her 
companion in all her characteristics. She was 
dark, with black hair, and features of symmetrical 
proportion with soft olive tint that spake of 
Southern skies. Her eyes, black as night, 
gleamed with merriment or melted with pathos, 
according to her mood. Her disposition was not 
so composed as Luthie’s, but ranged in its 
vagaries a wide scale of feeling; and she at times 
was so much subject to the domination of her 
moods that she yielded to a degree of passion 
impossible to conceive, or a gentleness of re- 
morse equally strange. She was vivacious and 
merry ordinarily, and had brilliant parts of mind 
which, with her beauty, made her a most interest- 
ing companion. 

Jack had met both the young women at the 
Pendleton home on the evening of his arrival and 


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had acknowledged their cordial greetings with the 
simplicity of his nature. He had been denied 
much social enjoyment, and the companionship 
of young women was quite unknown to him. 
Their acquaintance opened to him a new world, 
and Vivian’s interest in college affairs, and Luthie’s 
inquiries along the lines of his studies com- 
menced his relations with them in the most pleas- 
ing manner. Notwithstanding the brilliancy of 
Vivian, he felt himself strongly attracted to the 
gentler spirited girl whose face and manner 
awoke in him the strangest recollections of a vague 
and tender kind. He looked into her blue eyes 
with an intensity that made him wonder why he 
did so, and he felt that she regarded him with 
a shy amazement, mingled with the courteous air 
of friendly regard she showed him as Arthur’s 
friend. 

Coming from the beach one afternoon, Arthur 
proposed they climb the circling iron stairway to 
the top of the lighthouse so that Jack might be 
afforded a more extended view of the sea. As 
they stood on the iron balcony overlooking the 
water Arthur handed Luthie the marine glass he 
had taken from the wall, and remarked mis- 
chievously, “Look for the Albatross^ Luthie.” 

Luthie smiled as she took the glass, and looking 
over the water she gazed intently without speaking. 


RALPWS SHIP COMES SAILING HOME 129 


The moments passed, and apparently uncon- 
scious of their flight, Luthie still held the glass 
upon a distant sail. 

“What do you see, Luthie Arthur inquired. 

“A ship,’’ she answered slowly. 

“Can you make her out ?” asked Arthur. 

“Yes,” replied Luthie, hesitatingly, “it is the 
Lady LiUhie,^^ and a light flush mounted to the 
girl’s fair cheek as she handed Arthur the glass. 

“The Lady Luthier^ the latter repeated in 
astonishment. “What ship is that ?” 

“It’s Ralph’s,” she replied simply. “It’s father’s 
old ship, the Undine, You know Ralph com- 
mands her now.” 

“Yes,” said Arthur quietly. 

“Ralph didn’t care for the old name,” she con- 
tinued. “I liked it so dearly. I loved poor Un- 
dine so much that I used to like the old ship to 
keep her memory. I think Ralph was quite 
unwise to change the name. The sailors all say, 
too, that it brings bad luck,” she added with a 
faint smile. 

“And so he named the ship the Lady Luthie?** 
asked Arthur intently. 

“Yes,” she replied, and added hastily, “after 
the old ship.” 

“Or after the young maiden,” interrupted 
Vivian roguishly. Luthie blushed deeply, and 


130 


ALICIA 


Jack, seeing her distress, came to her rescue, and 
asked, “What was the name of the old ship 

“It was the Lady LuthWy' the girl replied; “she 
foundered at sea.” 

“And what is the relation between you and the 
Lady Luthie?'* he asked in some wonder. 

“I was named after her,” she replied slowly. 

And as Jack saw her sweet face swept with a 
shade of sadness as she spoke, again he felt the 
strange emotion which brought recollections of a 
past in which he felt he had seen her before. 
And as he looked at her, brooding on the matter, 
there came to him the sweet, patient face of his 
mother, and he seemed to hear her gentle accents, 
and his eyes grew moist at the thought, which 
Luthie seeing, dropped her own as she felt the 
tears come and a strange pain steal into her 
heart. 

Vivian’s gay mood had changed to one of quiet 
pensiveness, and Arthur was unusually grave. 
And thus they all stood there in silence, watching 
the sea, as Ralph’s ship came sailing home. 


THE DESTRUCTION OF THE MILL 131 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE DESTRUCTION OF THE MILL. 

Captain Pendleton’s new mill had proven of 
great value to the village and it was easily the 
leading industrial institution of all that section of 
New England, as well as the village itself. It 
was a large structure, four stories high, and its erec- 
tion and equipment had cost Captain Pendleton 
a large sum of money. Unfortunately it had not 
proven a financial success, though the conditions 
were slightly improving, and it appeared probable 
that in time the disadvantages usual to a new 
undertaking of the kind would be overcome, 
which was now causing Captain Pendleton a 
monthly loss, which he began to realize he could 
ill afford. The mill was ready for operation the 
fall of the year that Arthur left home for his 
senior year at Yale. Captain Pendleton had 
been unable to secure any insurance upon the 
property, except an insignificant amount as com- 
pared with its value. The entire absence of all 
protection from fire in the village had made the 
hazard so great that the captain had not been able 
to make satisfactory arrangements with the com- 


132 


ALICIA 


panies, and the property was practically unpro- 
tected. A system of protection was under con- 
struction, and necessitated frequent conferences 
with the companies at Boston, and upon the com- 
pletion of which, it was thought, the matter of 
insurance would be arranged to afford ample 
security to the enterprise. A few days after 
Arthur left for college Captain Pendleton de- 
parted for Boston for a final conference with the 
insurance companies, and was much gratified to 
have their approval and an assurance that upon 
the final completion of the system of protection, 
which would occur in about a week’s time, that he 
would receive a considerable, if not wholly ade- 
quate, amount of insurance. He took the train 
for home, much relieved at the situation. That 
afternoon the mill burned to the ground. 

It was about the middle of the afternoon when 
the dread cry of fire sounded through the build- 
ing, and the flames had made considerable head- 
way before they were discovered. Commencing 
upon the second floor of the mill, the fire spread 
with astounding rapidity, and the first few 
frightened villagers that reached the scene were 
terror stricken at the volumes of smoke beginning 
to pour forth from every window and the red 
flames bursting from those of the lower floors. 
The news spread quickly through the village and 


THE DESTRUCTION OF THE MILL 133 


ready hands were there in numbers to render 
much needed assistance to those within the build- 
ing who, terror stricken, were gathered at the 
upper windows watching with heart-breaking 
anxiety the preparations for their rescue, which 
many besought in imploring tones. Spurred to 
desperate efforts by the dangers, the villagers with 
long ropes and ladders worked valiantly at the 
work of rescue, while the flames roared with 
increased headway and the black smoke began 
to mount in heavy volumes to the sky. 

Among the first at the work of rescue, and who 
with the strength of a demon rushed up the 
ladders and again and again brought in his 
strong arms some helpless one to the ground in 
safety, was a man who by his daring and energy 
was tacitly accorded the leadership in the work 
of rescue which he directed. Many of the 
helpers fainted from their efforts, or exhausted, 
lay panting upon the ground, but he worked on 
with the courage of a god. At last every person 
at the windows had been removed to a place of 
safety, and a prolonged shout of thankfulness and 
muttered exclamations of prayer rose from both 
rescuers and rescued. The leader had just 
reached the ground in safety by means of a long 
rope with which a moment before he had lowered 
on the windward side of the wall a girl who had 


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fainted, to willing hands below who bore her 
away to a cool spot upon the grass. He had 
feared to descend with her by the ladders, as the 
flames were coming from the windows below in 
such volume that he considered the attempt too 
hazardous. Using the rope, he had also gotten 
to the ground in safety, and as he ran from the 
roaring building he heard the hoarse shout of 
warning mingled with the rumble and crash of the 
falling wall, which struck him down. 

They laid his mangled form upon the grass, 
with the red stains mixing with the soot of his 
blackened face, while the village doctor applied 
restoratives to him, and sympathetic hands lent 
willing assistance. The clock had not struck the 
hour of five when the swift rumble of wheels and 
the rapid pounding of galloping hoofs sounded 
down the road, and there suddenly appeared the 
swaying coach of Silas Craig with his horses wet 
with foam. He pulled the maddened animals to 
their haunches as Captain Pendleton leaped from 
the coach and with pale face cried out, “My God, 
how awful! Is anybody hurt? Tell me! Are 
you dumb? For God’s sake speak!” 

The group was silent and Silas, as he listened 
for reply and heard none, called out, too, “For 
God’s sake speak!” 

The dying man heard his voice and his eyes 


THE DESTRUCTION OF THE MILL 135 


slowly opened. Then Silas saw him and ran 
towards him, and as he knelt and raised his head 
into his lap, he cried hoarsely, “My God, it’s 
Jim.” Awe-stricken as they stood there they 
heard him cry in a voice that stirred his listeners 
with the depth of its sorrow, “Jim, look! It’s 
Silas. Don’t you hear me, Jim ? Don’t give up. 
It’s hard going now, but you’ll be all right soon. 
It’s uphill now, but you’ll soon be on the level. 
Take it easy, Jim. Don’t hold too tight a rein. 
Take it easy, Jim. It’s uphill now. You’ll soon 
be on the level.” 

The dying man opened his eyes where the glow 
of affection that the voice had summoned slowly 
waned with his fast ebbing strength, and with an 
effort his lips moved and he feebly gasped, “No, 
Sile; I’m — on — the down grade: and — I can’t 
reach — the — brake.” He did not speak again. 
With cool water they bathed his face and re- 
moved the stains from his brow, “white as a 
woman’s.” The evening twilight began to creep 
into the sky as he died. He lay there upon the 
sloping hillside with his head in Silas’ lap, and as 
the last rays of the setting sun glimmered for an 
instant on the point of the tall marble shaft in the 
graveyard his eyes opened and as it lingered there 
a moment he saw it, and knew it hovered over 
Lucy’s grave. His lips moved in a vain attempt 


136 


ALICIA 


to speak, as Silas bent over him, who, under- 
standing, with choking voice whispered, “You 
shall sleep, dear Jim, along side o’ Lucy.” 

And Silas saw his form grow strangely still, 
while a smile of joy and peace came into his face; 
and looking up at those gathered there, in broken 
accents Silas murmured, “He’s dead. Poor Jim. 
Me and him was schoolboys together.” And as 
he spoke he felt the old boyish pride at his friend’s 
talents and achievement mingling, as it always 
had, with his tenderness; and as he bent over 
his silent form he whispered the words which 
were borne faintly to the ears of his listeners, 
“He was onct Lootenent-Guvnor of Wyomin’.” 


SILAS GOES A COURTIW 


137 


CHAPTER XIV. 

SILAS GOES A COURTIN’. 

Silas had ridden over from the Falls in a con- 
templative mood, engaged in a brown study. The 
squirrel at the roadside and the old pine tree in the 
flats failed to attract his attention, and it was evi- 
dent that Silas had something on his mind of 
unusual importance. Interrupting his reverie 
by a pleasing thought which brought a smile to 
his gentle face, he slowly drew from his pocket a 
small package, and holding the reins between 
his knees, his chubby fingers awkwardly unfastened 
the fine pink cord and removed the soft white 
paper which enclosed a small pasteboard box, 
from which he drew the cover and revealed a 
shining ring resting on its velvet bed, at which he 
looked with timid pride. Then drawing the ring 
from the box he slipped it over the end of one of 
his fingers, and turned it at various angles to 
catch the light reflected from its solitary stone. 
Suddenly it slipped from his finger and striking, 
with its circling band, the edge of the broad, 
bellying dashboard that held itself up in the air 
in front of him, it bounded into the air and dis- 


138 


ALICIA 


appeared before his astonished gaze. Silas 
uttered a little cry of dismay at the mishap and, 
halting his horses, he got down from the coach 
and searched anxiously in the roadway, and peered 
carefully among the grasses and bushes on either 
side in a vain attempt to recover the ring. Failing 
in his search, he remounted to his seat, and putting 
the empty box back in his pocket in disappoint- 
ment, he gathered up his reins, and with a last 
searching look about him drove on. 

‘'Well, I swan,” he said ruefully. “To think 
I’d be fool enuff to lose that air ring. I’ve been 
figerin’ on gettin’ it all this time an’ then to lose 
it arter I’ve had it scursely an hour. It makes 
me feel like a fool, I swan if it don’t. I hadn’t 
ought to teched it,” he continued. “If I hadn’t 
went an’ took it outen the box I’d a ben all rite. 
Gol darn it all,” he exclaimed in vexation, “it’s 
such a disapp’intment — cost me forty dollars, 
too.” 

He drove on in gloomy silence, deep in reflec- 
tion, still pondering over the loss of the ring. 

“P’raps she won’t have me arter all, an’ then I 
won’t need the ring,” he considered, and cheered 
by this consoling philosophy, he visibly brightened 
until he suddenly perceived the weakness of it 
in that it involved the loss of the object of his 
affections, and he lapsed once more into a 


SILAS GOES A COURTIN^ 


139 


despondent mood which he gradually overcame 
as his mind dwelt upon the subject which had so 
thoroughly possessed it, when rudely disturbed 
by the unexpected incident. 

After his arrival home Silas ate his supper in 
silence, and refrained from the usual cheery con- 
versation with his mother which generally was 
the anticipated event of the day. 

Finally his mother addressing him said, “I seen 
Patience over to the postoffice today, and she 
looked real pert in her alapacky all fixed over. 
She sed you got her a new breadth over to the 
Falls, an’ she did say as how you were jus’ the 
best hand she ever see for gettin’ things jus’ 
right.” 

“What else did she say ?” asked Silas, yielding 
to the influence of the praise of his good offices. 

“I was dre’dful sorry to hear her tell that the 
cap’n was real sick. Luthie has ben over there 
helpin’ take care on him ever sence the mill 
burned. They do say as how the cap’n hain’t 
got a dollar left, with the old home an’ The 
Place mor’gaged and all.” 

“You don’t say ?” interjected Silas. 

“Patience has heered it down to the tavern,” 
she continued. 

“The cap’n’s luck has ben agin him ever sense 
the Albatross dragged her anchor and broke up 


140 


ALICIA 


on the beach in the big storm come three years 
now in December,” said Silas. 

“He’s too generous, that’s the matter,” his 
mother replied. “You mite say he’s give away 
all he had.” 

“Yes, you mite,” said Silas as he rose from the 
table, and going to the side porch he smoked in 
silence, while the house cat in vain tried to 
attract his attention as she purred about his chair 
and rubbed her head against his legs, going 
occasionally to the open kitchen door, where 
behind the stove and snugly sleeping in a basket 
of soft cotton, reposed her new family of kittens 
which she endeavored with pride to have Silas 
observe. He smoked on in silence, after giving 
a moment to the inspection of the little brood to 
the apparent delight of pussy, while his mother, 
a sprightly old lady who bore her seventy years 
with grace, cleared the table of the evening meal. 

After a time Silas arose and announcing to his 
mother that he was going to the village, went to 
his room, from which about an hour later he 
emerged and, kissing his mother as he passed 
from the house, he went out the side door, down 
the path to the gate, out onto the road, and in a 
contemplative and abstracted manner wended 
his way to the village tavern. Silas was dressed 
in his best attire; his coat was of black broadcloth. 


SILAS GOES A COURTIN’ 


141 


cut by the village tailor a number of years ago, 
but still what might be called as good as new. 
Its condition fully warranted, apparently, the 
praise the tailor had bestowed on it as being the 
best piece of goods in his shop; and the fact that 
both the minister and Squire Meecham had 
clothed their dignified forms in garments cut 
from the selfsame piece some years before, was 
ample testimony to Silas’ mind of its excellent 
worth. His waistcoat was also of black and 
made of embroidered satin, cut low and revealing 
his white plaited shirt bosom of ample propor- 
tions where reposed the lavender neckcloth of 
silk, tied by Silas’ own hand in a bow-knot of 
rather generous dimensions. His trousers fitted 
his fat legs snugly and were of a grayish-blue 
color, and were a trifle too snug and a trifle too 
short to fall fully over his well-blackened shoes. 
His broad-brimmed hat, which was worn on all 
occasions, completed his attire. 

Patience Cheevers greeted him with the same 
cordial simplicity that she had shown him on 
many similar occasions. Silas had been keeping 
company, as the village folks said, with the young 
woman for a considerable number of years. He 
had looked forward to the time when he should 
have a wife, and children, perhaps, to greet him 
as he came to the evening’s respite from the work 


142 


ALICIA 


of the day. Many and many a time when with 
Patience, had the words that he thought to speak 
trembled on his lips, but up to now had remained 
unspoken. He had determined to put off the 
matter no longer, and with his courage screwed 
to the sticking point he now found himself in 
Patience’s little parlor at the tavern, where 
Patience had been housekeeper for years, and in 
fact ever since the death of her mother, when her 
father had placed such responsibility upon her 
capable shoulders. 

“My mother says she seen you today. Patience,” 
said Silas, opening the conversation. 

“Yes, I seen her at the postoffice. Did she tell 
you about Captain Pendleton ?” 

“Yes. I wonder if Arthur has been told about 
his father ?” 

“Luthie has written about his sickness but she 
hasn’t told about the other. It wouldn’t do any 
good to worry him about it,” Patience remarked. 
“Luthie is in such trouble over the captain’s 
sickness and his misfortunes. Mrs. Pendleton 
is about prostrated, although she has got good 
courage, too. Luthie said to me today that she 
wished she was rich so she could help the captain. 
But I told her it would do no good, for neither 
Captain or Mrs. Pendleton would take any help 
from anybody unless it were their own son.” 


SILAS GOES A COURTIN' 


143 


“What about their son’s wife?” enquired Silas. 

“I don’t know,” answered Patience. “I told 
Luthie that when she and Arthur were married 
it would be time enough to think of helping. 
But poor child, what can she do? She hasn’t 
anything.” 

“What did she say ?” asked Silas. 

“She didn’t answer, but grew quite pale. I am 
sure that she and Arthur love each other, and I 
know that it is the dearest wish of Captain and 
Mrs. Pendleton to see Luthie Arthur’s wife. 
They have always cherished her as a daughter, 
and I told Luthie today that I hoped she and 
Arthur would be married soon after he gets home 
from college. I don’t believe in long courtships, 
Silas, do you?” she asked, dropping her eyes to 
her lap. 

“No, of course I don’t,” stammered Silas, 
moving uneasily. “The fact is, — that is, I mean, 
— Oh, I say. Patience, — ” stopping confusedly. 

“Yes,” said Patience gently. 

Silas still kept silent, and Patience again spoke. 
“What were you going to say, Silas ?” 

“Oh, I mos’ forgot, but now I think on it I’d 
like to tell ’bout Jim,” Silas replied. “You see 
he left a will, an’ he made me egzecutor. Here 
it is.” As he spoke he drew from his pocket a 
long manilla envelope and took a folded paper 


144 


ALICIA 


from it which he opened and read to Patience, 
who sat with her hands folded, listening. 

“In the name of God, Amen, I, James Towles, 
of the village of Portsmouth, and the State of 
Maine, — ’ 

Here Silas interrupted himself, and looking up 
at Patience said, “He ought to have sed ’onct 
Lootenent-Guvnor of Wyomin’.” Patience nodded 
assent, and Silas resumed, “being of sound mind 
and disposing memory do make, publish, and 
declare this, my last Will and Testament as 
follows, that is to say: — 

“First. I hereby direct that my executor here- 
inafter named shall pay all my just debts and 
funeral expenses as soon after my decease as 
practicable. 

“Second. After the payment of my debts and 
funeral expenses as aforesaid, and the payment 
to my executor of the sum of money hereinafter 
mentioned, I hereby give, devise and bequeath 
all the rest, remainder and residue of my estate 
of every name and nature and wheresoever 
situate, unto my friend, Arthur Reide Pendleton, 
of the said village of Portsmouth, and State of 
Maine. 

“Third. I hereby nominate and appoint my 
friend, Silas Craig, of the said village of Ports- 


SILAS GOES A COURTIN’ 


145 


mouth, executor of this my last Will and Testa- 
ment, and direct that he shall receive from my 
estate, and I hereby give and bequeath unto him, 
in addition to executor’s fees, the full sum of 
five thousand dollars. 

‘Tn witness whereof I have hereunto set my 
hand and seal at the village of Portsmouth, in the 
State of Maine, on this 14th day of December, 
1872.” 

“The only property Jim left,” said Silas, “was 
the ‘Statoots of Wyomin’ which I have kept for 
Arthur, except this letter.” As he spoke he drew 
from the manilla envelope a letter, which, unfold- 
ing, he read as follows : 

Montreal, April 6th, 1856. 

My Dear Jim: — 

I am about to leave for England for a short 
time, and I thought I would let you have a word 
from me before my departure. I have not heard 
from you but once since you wrote me after you left 
California to go to Wyoming to practice law, and 
I shall address you there and hope that this letter 
may reach you safely. Jim, old chum, I’ve 
struck it rich. Yes, after all my hard work and 
disappointment and years of waiting, I am wealthy 
beyond my fondest hopes. After you left me I 


10 


146 


ALICIA 


went into Washington Territory and found a 
deposit of a metal that turned out to be molyb- 
denum. I had heard of its use and value when 
in England, but before I could get the land it was 
taken by a couple of countrymen of mine who 
knew its value. I then went into the British 
northwest and starved and froze until finally I 
struck an Indian who put me on to the rich find 
of molybdenum I made in Eastern Canada. 

‘T came up here to Montreal and secured the 
mineral rights to the lands and was taken very 
sick and almost died. After my recovery I 
married the woman who saved my life, and have 
remained here in Montreal for the last two years. 
About a year ago there came to us the dearest little 
baby girl you ever saw. She can call my name 
and is just beginning to toddle on her little feet. 
I wish you could see her, Jim. My dear wife died 
two months ago, and I have decided to take my 
little daughter to England and place her in my 
sister’s care until she is some older, and I can 
make a home for her. I shall come back at once 
and take up the matter of disposing of my molyb- 
denum mine. 

“Now, Jim, there is one thing I want to speak 
to you about and it is this; when you cared for 
me when I was so sick, when you and I worked 
together the Last Chance mine out there in Cali- 


SILAS GOES A COURTIN^ 


147 


fornia, and you nursed me night and day and 
spent your last cent to buy me food and medicine, 
I swore if I ever made a find you should have half 
of it. I have struck it rich now, Jim; my molyb- 
denum mine is worth a fortune, and half of it is 
yours. I sail with my little girl today and I am 
writing you this hasty line before going on board. 
I will write you upon my return, and until then, 
old chum, goodbye. 

Faithfully yours, 

“John Lakelet.” 

“What are you going to do with the letter, 
Silas .?•” asked Patience when he had finished. 

“I shall send it to Arthur,” Silas replied. 

“Poor Jim,” said Patience; “he never got the 
fortune his friend expected to give him. Did 
you ever hear Jim speak of him ?” she asked. 

“No, I never did,” replied Silas. “It’s likely 
he never heered from this friend any more or else 
he’d probably spoke about it.” 

“I always felt sorry for Jim, living all alone so,” 
said Patience. 

“ ’Twant no way for him to do,” said Silas, 
“but he was dredful sot in his ways and there 
warn’t no changing him.” 

“It ain’t no way for any man to live,” asserted 
Patience firmly. 


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A silence followed and was broken by Patience 
asking, “How does your mother get on these days, 
Silas ? She ain’t so young a woman as she used 
to be. She ought to have some help, Silas; she 
really ought, an old lady like her, even if she is 
real smart.” 

Silas answered, “Yes, I know she ought. 
I’ve ben kinder figgerin’ on her havin’ some one 
long ago.” 

“It seems to me, Silas, you do an awful sight of 
figgerin’. More doing and less figgerin’ wouldn’t 
be amiss Silas, in lots of us.” 

“I guess you’re right,” said Silas meekly 
wondering what to say and how to say it. 

Finally he remarked, “Say, Patience, I’ve 
ben kinder figgerin’ — no, I mean I ain’t ben fig- 
gerin’; well, I swan — excuse me I didn’t mean 
to swear. Patience — what I wuz goin’ to say wuz 
that I’ve got somethin’ awful, that is, somethin’ 
important I want to tell you; I wanted to say. 
Patience, an’ I hope you’ll furgive me for sayin’ 
on it, for I’ve thought of it so much, an’ I’ve 
wondered if you knew. Patience, — I wanted to 
say, if you please. Patience, that is, I — ” Silas 
came to a stop and glancing shyly at Patience 
who was looking gently at him with a rosy flush 
warming her cheek, he said again, “I wanted to 
tell ye — ” Again he stopped and stammered in 


SILAS GOES A COURTIN' 


149 


an effort to speak further, but he seemed to have 
lost his power of thought as well as speech. 
His mind seemed suddenly to have become 
vacant. He racked his brain for some of the 
words that had seemed to come to his lips so 
easily as he had thought of her during the day. 
But in vain ; no thought shaped itself in his mind, 
except he suddenly recalled the side porch where 
he had smoked his evening pipe and the cat 
purred around his chair. He tried to dismiss the 
scene from his mind as in his embarrassment he 
struggled to speak. But persistently that pur- 
ring cat rubbed her head against his ankles, and 
before he knew it, he blurted out desperately, 
“Our cat’s got kittens.” 

“Indeed,” replied Patience coldly. 

Frightened at his remark and her frigid 
manner, he arose in embarrassment and said, 
“I mus’ be goin’,” and reaching for his hat he 
excitedly raised it to his head when suddenly there 
flashed a bright object from its curled brim and 
fell in Patience’s lap, who gave a startled scream 
as she saw a diamond ring gleaming in her very 
hand. 

“Oh, Silas,” she exclaimed impetuously, a 
deep blush mounting to her forehead. 

“It’s yourn. Patience; it’s yourn,” replied 
Silas quickly, as he grasped her hands in both his 


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own, and they held the ring between them. 
Overcome, poor Patience was seized with a fit of 
weeping much to the consternation of Silas, who 
although he knew a great deal about horses knew 
very little about women or the philosophy of 
women’s tears. He drew her to him and soothed 
and calmed her, and as she raised her face, all 
tear-stained and shining with its gladness, to his 
own, he felt at peace with all the world, though 
he dimly realized that Patience had forever 
ruined his beautiful lavender tie with her tears. 

And later as Silas left her he remarked, “Patience, 
did you notice a strange thing about that letter 

“What do you mean, Silas she replied. 

“Why, the letter is dated April 6th, 1856.” 

“That’s the date the man sailed from Montreal, 
Silas,” she answered. 

“Yes, so ’tis,” he assented. “But there’s some- 
thin’ else happened on that day, too.” 

And he said softly, “Poor Jim; that’s the day 
they ’lected him Lootenent Guvnor of Wyomin’.” 


THE BOAT RACE 


151 


CHAPTER XV. 

THE BOAT RACE. 

At the beginning of the senior year Arthur had 
joined the candidates for the university boat in 
the annual spring race with Harvard. He went 
into training with a determination to win a seat 
in the shell and felt encouraged to believe that he 
would be successful. Although never in a 
Varsity race, yet he had gotten more than the 
usual experience on the water, and his physical 
training had been in many respects superior to 
his fellows. The fact also that he had prac- 
tically completed the studies required for his 
degree, and the work of his senior year remaining 
to be performed was largely elective, gave him an 
advantage in the matter of time for hard and 
systematic work at the oars and otherwise that 
was of incalculable value. 

It was a foregone conclusion that his chum 
Jack would not only have a seat in the boat but 
also stroke the crew. He had come into promi- 
nence as stroke of his class crew in his freshman 
year and had rowed an oar each year since in the 
university shell. His strength, grit, skill, and 


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experience made him practically certain of the 
place that popular favor had chosen for him. 

Arthur worked like a Trojan during the winter, 
and before he had been long on the water in the 
spring he felt certain of a seat in the boat. He 
had confidence in his own strength and abilities, 
and he made tests at the oars that stimulated his 
own confidence, and proved of practical benefit. 
Towards the close of the winter he would row 
the course on the machines in the gymnasium, 
according to approved custom, saving his reserve 
strength for the spurt at the close of the race, 
and rowing at his full power, would find at the 
finish he could still row another half-mile without 
exhaustion. Then again, he would pull a stroke 
to which he would give his full strength long 
before the home stretch was reached, without 
thought of reserving himself for the spurt, and 
he would find himself ready to row the quickened 
stroke of the spurt of the last half-mile without 
dimunition of power. These and other forms 
of experiment and drill were the results of his 
own ideas which he carried into practice in 
addition to the regular course of daily training 
prescribed by the coach and physical director. 
His interest in the matter grew, and he spent 
more time and gave more work to his training 
than any other candidate. His flesh was firm 


THE BOAT RACE 


153 


and hard; his lungs strong and perfect; his 
muscles like steel; and he would feel as he 
dropped his oar after a long pull the exhilaration 
and savage thrill of a gladiator just ready for the 
combat. At last the day came when he heard 
with satisfaction his own name among the suc- 
cessful ones who were to compose the crew of the 
university boat. He now had a place at the 
training table, and the coming race was the 
chief topic of interest. A letter from Luthie told 
him of the illness of his father, but its tone gave 
him no cause for alarm, but notwithstanding, 
he begged permission for a hurried visit to him 
and finding him apparently improving and much 
stronger, he returned free from anxiety concern- 
ing him. 

A few weeks before the departure of the crew 
for New London, Arthur received a communica- 
tion from Silas enclosing a letter of his friend, 
Lieutenant-Governor Towles, received from 
John Lakeley, and also the former’s will, which 
letter, as may well be imagined, was a matter 
of absorbing interest. Both of the boys were 
astounded and Jack much touched to learn that 
the miner and Jim’s friend was his mother’s 
brother; and the anxiety of them both to trace the 
whereabouts of John Lakeley and his little 
daughter became a project at once of serious 


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determination. Jack corresponded with his 
mother, and she in turn wrote to old friends at 
home in England, but nothing was revealed as to 
the missing ones. In fact she learned that her 
brother had not been seen in England since he 
had left some time before her own departure for 
America. It was the night before they left 
college for New London when such news was 
received by Jack in a letter from his mother that 
came by the evening post. They sat in silence 
after Jack had read the letter aloud, and finally 
he said, “It’s strange he didn’t give the name of the 
ship upon which he sailed.” 

“Hardly,” replied Arthur. “The letter was 
written in haste and just before he sailed. Does 
he state the time of the departure of the vessel ?” 

“Yes,” Jack replied. “He writes, T sail today,’ 
and the letter is dated April 6th, 1856.” 

“I think the next step is to write to Montreal 
and learn what vessels left there on that date. 
We may be able to find upon which of the vessels 
he sailed, and thus trace him and his child.” 

“That is an excellent idea,” exclaimed Jack 
enthusiastically. “I will write immediately;” 
and leaving Arthur to the work of packing their 
effects for the impending trip. Jack wrote to the 
registration of vessels office at Montreal and 
requested information giving the names of all the 


THE BOAT RACE 


155 


vessels that sailed from that place on the date in 
question. The next day Jack and Arthur with 
the other members of the crew, together with 
substitutes and trainer and coach and many 
students, left for New London. 

The long looked for day of the race had arrived. 
As Arthur sat in the boat with oar poised, the 
second seat behind old Jack, who was to pull the 
stroke oar, he thought his heart would burst 
with its beating. He had sat as in a daze and 
mechanically rowed to the starting point from 
the Yale quarters and he felt his blood thrill at 
the tumultuous cries of Yale that their appearance 
excited as they leisurely, but with splendid form 
and clean-cut sweeping stroke, rowed to their 
place, while the air was full of flags of loyal blue. 
Again his pulse was stirred at the shout of 
Harvard as her crew pulled from their quarters 
and crimson flags made the air blood-red — and 
he realized the hour of the contest was on. 

He sat in the boat at the starting point as in a 
dream. He could hardly realize that the long 
anticipated moment had at last arrived, and that 
he was a participant in the stirring scene. Faintly 
there came to his ears the shouts of Yale, the 
shouts of Harvard, and then there rose and 
floated out over the water the beautiful air of the 
old Yale song he had heard so often beneath the 


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elms on the campus. He felt a heavy weight on 
his breast, and his breath came in suffocating 
gasps. 

Still as in a dream he heard the words, “Are 
you ready, gentlemen and they seemed to 
come faintly from afar; they seemed to be the 
echo of words, not those spoken with human 
tongue; he heard the voice of the coxswain and 
he saw old Jack’s broad back bend forward and 
his powerful oar swing backward and hang over 
the water in a grip that sent the cords rising on 
his sinewy forearm, as he held it there without the 
slightest quiver. Mechanically Arthur’s oar fol- 
lowed and an instant only it hung there, for as the 
pistol cracked it dropped into the water simul- 
taneously with old Jack’s, and under the powerful 
impetus of the eight blades that moved as if by 
one mechanism the boat leaped forward like a 
thing of life, while the wild yell of Yale striking 
Arthur’s ear told him they had caught the water 
first, and had the lead in the race. His eyes were 
fastened on old Jack’s back, which rose and fell 
with the precision of clockwork, as he set the 
old Yale stroke made famous by well-earned 
victories of the years before. 

The race was not half finished when he saw the 
Harvard boat slowly creep upon them. Inch by 
inch the sharp nose of the crimson shell gained 


THE BOAT RACE 


157 


on them and a wild impulse to quicken the pace 
thrilled him; but old Jack still held to the steady 
even stroke that up to this time had kept the boat 
in her position. Suddenly Arthur heard a 
startled cry of dismay from the forward part of 
the boat and heard the sharp question of the cox- 
swain, “What’s the matter, No. 4 

“My oar-lock’s broken,” he muttered savagely. 
“It’s not clean gone, but I can’t pull my stroke or 
I would pull it away,” he explained. 

“How much will it stand?” asked the cox- 
swain, hurriedly. 

“About half a stroke,” said No. 4, who was 
pulling his oar with care, and lessened energy 
by one-half its usual power, with his eyes fixed 
intently on the weakened oarlock. 

“Keep your form and trim the boat,” com- 
manded the coxswain. “Pull every ounce the 
oarlock will stand, but don’t pull it out or we 
lose the race. Use your best judgment now, and 
everybody keep cool and obey orders.” 

Arthur could hear the wild shouts of Rah! Rah! 
Rah ! Harvard ! Harvard ! as the Cambridge boat 
shoved her nose ahead of the Yale bow. The 
Yale boat was sagging badly under the loss of 
No. 4’s weakened oar. Arthur had heard the 
colloquy in the boat with intense anxiety, and 
he eagerly exclaimed, “I will pull No. 4’s oar,” 


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thus breaking a rigid rule which imposed upon 
those in the boat, unless spoken to by the captain, 
perfect silence. “Pull your own oar, Pendleton,” 
the coxswain commanded. Arthur was an un- 
known quantity and he did not propose to take 
any chances with inexperienced enthusiasm. 
“Every man pull his own oar,” he added. Slowly 
he mentally canvassed every man in the boat. 
He knew, he felt, each one’s calibre. He knew 
to an ounce, he thought, what each man could do. 
He knew that there was no man in the boat that 
could be relied upon to more than finish the race 
with possibly two exceptions, and these were 
Jack and Arthur. He knew more of Jack’s skill 
and endurance than he did of Arthur’s. In ex- 
perience, he knew that Arthur was a novice and 
Jack a veteran. On Jack’s coolness and judg- 
ment he knew he could rely; of Arthur’s he could 
give no proper estimate. So he said, “Jack, can 
you pull half of No. 4’s oar, and set the stroke 
beside 

Jack nodded an aflSrmative without speaking. 
“Do it then,” the coxswain commanded firmly. 
“Draw on your reserve, but you must still stroke 
the spurt to the full limit.” Jack nodded under- 
standingly, and they rowed on in silence. 

The boat now did better, for the effect of Jack’s 
oar was apparent. Anxiously the coxswain 


THE BOAT RACE 


159 


watched the result. The crimson shell had 
gotten a good lead. The Harvard cheer was 
incessant now and the Yale crowd was silent, 
save an occasional encouraging cry. Jack now 
quickened the stroke and the long powerful blades 
followed in unison. No. 4 still pulled his oar 
with care, and with but half its usual power. 
The oarlock still held, though it strained ominously 
at times. Harvard increased her stroke, and the 
two boats swept on. 

Arthur sat with his eyes glued on Jack’s broad 
back and he could see the flash of the powerful oar 
as he worked in silence pulling his own oar and 
half of No. 4’s. Arthur began to notice Jack’s 
heavy breathing, which at times came to his ear 
in a groan. He knew full well the dogged courage 
that pulled the oar, but he felt that they were 
rowing against fate. But as he watched him he 
remembered how in the cane rush of the freshman 
year old Jack was the only man left on the cane 
when Anally it was dragged across their line vic- 
torious, and how he clung to it with a death-like 
grip with face as white as death itself as the upper 
classmen pulled the crowd away, and how they 
tried to get the cane away from those vice-like 
Angers, and how finally they had to leave it there 
as they worked upon him to bring him back to 
life again. And as he thought of that a great 


160 


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hope came surging into his heart that old Jack 
would after all row them to victory, and he felt 
comforted and calm. He was breathing easily 
now, and the heavy breathing of Jack struck his 
ear painfully. 

Suddenly he saw the coxswain bend forward 
and with his hand dash the water in Jack’s face. 
Then Arthur knew the race was lost, and a feeling 
of desperation seized him. He was breathing 
the rushing air freely and he felt the unspent 
strength of a giant in his being as his blood 
thrilled and tugged in its ambition to hurl itself 
in a wild, fierce endeavor to wrest victory from 
defeat. In his excitement he spoke before he 
knew it. “Billy, you can go to the devil. I will 
row No. 4’s oar. Take it easy. Jack,” he com- 
manded, “until you get your wind. Where’s the 
Harvard shell ?” he demanded, not daring to turn 
his head for a sight of her. 

“She’s got clear water between us. Yes, she’s 
two good lengths ahead,” the coxswain answered, 
tacitly turning over the command of the boat to 
Arthur. 

Jack did as he was bidden. He rowed the 
stroke, but dipped his oar lightly. Arthur was 
rowing a clean, powerful oar of tremendous 
force. 

“Where are we ?” he again asked. 


THE BOAT RACE 


161 


“Past the two-mile flag/’ 

A wild cheer rose from Harvard as the coxswain 
answered. Her shell had entered the last two- 
mile stretch of the course, and her crew, spurting, 
had drawn away from the Yale boat and per- 
ceptibly increased her lead. They rowed on in 
silence, keeping a clean-cut stroke and perfect 
form, determined to go to the finish though beaten. 
The Harvard lead increased an account of Jack’s 
resting oar. Arthur watched him closely. He 
saw him slowly getting his wind and his regular 
form again. Another stretch of the course swept by. 

“Now, Jack,” said Arthur shortly. 

The stroke quickened and the shell flew through 
the water. Arthur had been using the full 
strength of his powerful physique, backed by his 
fine courage, for some distance now, and easily 
carried the balance of No. 4’s weakened oar. He 
alone of them all did not give up. He could see, 
since he had taken command, the valued effect of 
his oar upon the increased speed of the boat. He 
could now hear the Yale cheer as the boat shot 
forward under the impetus of the quickened 
stroke, and it made his heart tingle. He knew 
the race depended upon him now, and that 
thought inspired him. He could hear the Yale 
cheer plainly, and it told him they were gaining. 

The race swept on ! 

11 


162 


ALICIA 


“Where are we ?” he exclaimed suddenly. 

“At the mile flag,” the coxswain answered in 
despair. 

“Faster, Jack ! Faster !” cried Arthur. 

He saw Jack’s swift-moving oar flash still 
swifter in response to his command. Swifter, 
swifter, swifter, it rose and fell till the boat fairly 
lifted from the water. On, on they swept ! 

“Half-mile flag,” cried the coxswain, a wild 
hope in his voice. 

“Spurt, Jack! Spurt!” cried Arthur desper- 
ately. 

Old Jack bravely put the stroke to the limit. 
The boat was flying — the wind rushed by them 
like a hurricane. The labored breathing came 
from the crew in great sobs. 

Now Arthur heard the incessant cries of “Yale! 
Yale! Yale!” and he knew they were nearing 
the line, and that there was hope left, and that 
they were crowding Harvard for the place at the 
finish. The cries moved his heart to desperation. 
He buried his blade as though he would pull the 
boat alone as he wielded the flashing oar with the 
strength of a giant. 

Suddenly he again saw the coxswain bend for- 
ward and dash the water in Jack’s face. It made 
Arthur furious, and the strength of his great soul 
concentrated and hardened into one supreme 


THE BOAT RACE 


163 


grim, unyielding determination to wrest victory 
from defeat, at the cost, if need be, of his life. 
He rowed his oar a demon, a fury, a madman. 
His face was white and ghastly and his lips oozed 
blood, from his clenched teeth. His eyes flashed 
from his wild, drawn features like coals of fire. 
Every heart-throb was the pain of a dagger- 
thrust in his breast. He sobbed in his anguish. 
His vision blurred. He realized there was a 
terrible shouting and roaring, mingled and con- 
fused, sounding in his ears. He knew what it 
meant. He knew it was the hoarse, frantic cries 
of the thousands of Harvard and Yale adherents 
as the two boats now fought for the finish. It 
told him plainly that they had covered the gap 
of clear water between their shell and the Har- 
vard boat; that the Yale bow had lapped onto the 
Harvard shell, and slowly — slowly — had crept 
alongside of her, until now the Yale boat was 
neck and neck with Harvard ; — that there was not 
a hair’s breadth between them. He knew, too, 
that they were close to the line; — he knew the 
supreme moment had come ; — he felt the clutch of 
death at his throat as he choked and gasped in his 
agony; — he fought him off desperately, with 
demoniac rage, — and throwing his bursting heart 
into the balance, he pulled a stroke that bent the 
stout ashen blade like a reed; — then another; — 


164 


ALICIA 


then another; — and then — the blood rushed to his 
lips and in a daze he saw the crimson stain on his 
oar handle, and felt the warm blood on his hands, 
— and then he suddenly heard the sound change. 

It was no longer discordant, but rose in one 
clear, piercing strain. It seemed familiar to 
him. He tried to think where he had heard it 
before. Then he knew it was the shout of victory. 
He could determine that even as he felt himself 
falling and sinking, and the noise growing fainter 
and fainter, and he felt a great pain and weakness, 
and he made one brave effort to recognize the 
sound; and as he struggled, and the light grew 
dim, he recognized it as the wild, exultant cry of 
old Yale, such as he had often heard when her 
sons had wrought some great victory, and it came 
to his ears from ten thousand throats, — and he 
smiled. And then he heard it not, for he fainted, 
with his boat a safe winner by a good quarter’s 
length. 


* * * * 

Upon the evening of the return to New Haven, 
Arthur found among the accumulated mail a long, 
official looking envelope for Jack, and postmarked 
Montreal. An exclamation burst from Jack as 
he finished reading it, and starting from his seat in 


THE BOAT RACE 


165 


excitement he placed the letter in Arthur’s hand, 
who read as follows : 

Montreal, June 5th, 188 — . 
John Lakeley Landseer, Esquire, 

Yale University, 

New Haven, Connecticut, U. S. A. 

Sir : — 

Replying to your favor of 1st. inst. wherein you 
request information as to the names of all vessels 
departing from Montreal on April 6th, 1856, 1 beg 
to state that the records of this office disclose the 
fact that only one vessel cleared from this port on 
the date in question, and that she failed to reach 
her destination as she foundered at sea when five 
days out. She was registered from Liverpool 
and commanded by Captain Charles Loveridge, 
who was lost with his ship. The name of the 
vessel was the Lady Luthie. 

Respectfully, 

James McMaster, 
Registrar. 

Jack and Arthur looked at each other in amaze- 
ment. 

“Why, Jack,” exclaimed Arthur, “Luthie is 
John Lakeley’ s daughter,” growing pale with 
excitement. 


166 


ALICIA 


“And my cousin,” cried Jack rapturously, his 
affection going out to the lonely girl in a great 
wave of tenderness. 

“I must write mother immediately, and Luthie 
also,” he said. “No, I will not write Luthie; 
I will carry the great news to her personally, and I 
shall go at once.” 

He wrote his mother a long letter, and left by 
an early train for Portsmouth. 

Luthie was sitting on the porch of the vine-clad 
cottage when Jack came to her. She greeted 
him warmly though quite startled at his sudden 
appearance. Restraining his impatience, he spoke 
to her calmly, and gradually led the conversation 
towards the important disclosure. As it pro- 
gressed Luthie perceived both by Jack’s manner 
and language that he had something unusual to 
communicate that vitally affected her, and in 
spite of her best efforts she felt an agitation and 
weakness possessing her. Though thus fore- 
warned, she was not fully prepared for the start- 
ling intelligence until it was imparted to her, and 
in spite of Jack’s utmost care she was overcome 
by the news. She wept in tumultuous sorrow 
and joy. Jack drew her to him in his tenderness 
and sympathy, and soothed and calmed her, and 
as she grew more composed he whispered to her 
softly, “I will atone, Luthie dear, for all these 


THE BOAT RACE 


167 


years of loneliness. You shall be cousin and 
sister both to me. My mother longs to take you 
to her heart and be a mother to you as well as 
me. The years shall be filled with happiness for 
you, and I shall strive that every wish of your 
dear heart shall be gratified.” And he spoke 
gently to her as he sat there with his arm about 
her to support her in her weakness. As he spoke 
he heard a footstep upon the gravel and looking 
up he saw Ralph standing before them with 
white face and flashing eye. 

“My ship sails in an hour — when the tide goes 
out,” he said, addressing Luthie. “I had thought 
to go on her tonight with a promise from you that 
I have cherished all my life. Our affection is not 
of a day,” he said bitterly; and as he looked at 
Jack, Luthie tried to speak. She had heard him 
in a sort of daze. He had come upon them so 
suddenly and spoken with such rash haste that 
both she and Jack could do aught else at first but 
hear in wonder. And then, as she understood, 
her distress gave her anguish, and she essayed to 
speak, but in her weakened and excited state it 
was quite too much for her, and all grew dark — 
and she fainted. 

Frightened, Jack gathered her up in his strong 
arms and bore her into the house. As she revived 
she opened her eyes and called faintly, “Ralph.” 


168 


ALICIA 


Going to the door Jack saw him disappearing at 
the gateway, and he told her. She rose with 
feeble step and walked to the lane at the gateway, 
where she saw Ralph’s form in the distance as he 
strode on with proud head erect. 

“Ralph, — Ralph,” she called, reaching out her 
arms to him as she called his name, scarce know- 
ing what she did. 

But her voice was hardly above a whisper in her 
weakness, and he heard her not, but strode on 
towards his ship in the bay, while she stood there 
calling his name, — and suddenly a turn of the 
road hid him from view. 


ALICIA 


169 


CHAPTER XVI. 

ALICIA. 

Arthur Pendleton had reached man’s estate 
and found himself upon the threshold of the 
serious existence of life. After taking his degree 
at Yale, Arthur entered the law school and upon 
the completion of his course returned to Ports- 
mouth. His father’s health had improved, but 
his business matters had assumed a most dis- 
couraging condition. At this period Arthur 
took hold of affairs and prosecuted to a finish the 
steps he had undertaken a considerable time 
before, and not only perfected the title to the 
valuable deposits of molybdenum in Canada 
vesting in Luthie and himself, but also disposed 
of a portion of their holdings to an English syndi- 
cate at a sum that constituted in itself a handsome 
fortune. This enabled them to retrieve his 
father’s fallen fortunes and make serene the 
evening of his existence, which had long been the 
dearest wish of their hearts. 

In the early fall, as the foliage began to display 
the glories of autumn, and the mellowness of the 
Indian summer sifted its haze into the atmosphere 


170 


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that brooded upon hill and vale, Arthur and 
Luthie were married. And as all roads in the 
Roman provinces led to the imperial city, so 
ambitious inclination in every New England 
hamlet that sought a new and greater field looked 
to the capital of Massachusetts. Arthur had 
been inclined at first to settle in the city of Boston, 
but from the description of the City of the Lakes 
given by Mr. Hale at the time of his visit at the 
Pendleton home, wherein he alluringly spoke of 
its many charms as a place of residence, and its 
prospects for future greatness, and his earnest 
wish for their choice of his own city, the thoughts 
of Arthur and Luthie were so favorably influenced 
as to result in a determination to make it their 
home. The acquaintance of the Pendletons 
with the Hales had been maintained by frequent 
correspondence, and a few years prior to their 
departure for their new home, cards had been 
received by Captain and Mrs. Pendleton an- 
nouncing the marriage of their daughter Alicia 
to Mr. Edmund Blake. 

The first to welcome them to the city was Mr. 
Hale; and a reception in their honor at the home 
of the Hales and Blakes, following shortly after 
their coming, v/as their first acquaintance with 
their new home, and opened the relations with 
Edmund and Alicia Blake, who were thereafter 


ALICIA 


171 


to be so closely associated with their lives. Alicia 
Blake received her guests with a graciousness, 
and a winsome manner that bespoke an entire 
absence of conventionality, and irresistibly at- 
tracted by its sweet naturalness. Her slight, erect 
figure showed to admirable advantage in her 
evening gown, and her beautiful lustrous eyes, 
full of depth and meaning, illuminated her hand- 
some, expressive countenance. 

Arthur experienced a strange emotion as he 
first saw her, and as he bent over her hand he felt 
instinctively that he was in the presence of a rare 
woman of the finest mental perceptions and the 
highest moral sensibilities. Even then, to her, 
his highly emotional lineaments bore an expres- 
sion of lofty thought, and as he looked into her 
face and her thought kindled at touch of his 
mentality, her long lashes swept her cheek in 
sudden contemplativeness. 

Her subtle intuition and natural charm of 
manner, and her unaffected kindness made her 
an ideal hostess, and her presence was pleasurably 
felt by every guest at all times throughout the 
evening. 

“I wonder if I may ask you how you like the 
City of the Lakes, Mr. Pendleton?” she asked, 
addressing Arthur as he stood by the conserva- 
tory. “We are apt to be over-enthusiastic about 


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our city. It is a provincialism that prompts the 
enquiry I have just addressed you that has 
undoubtedly taxed your patience ere this.” 

“Oh, not at all. But if it had, it certainly does 
not in this instance, Mrs. Blake. I like it very 
much in many respects. It is a beautiful city, 
and the climate is delightful.” 

“How about the people?” asked Mr. Blake, 
sauntering up. 

“I have met some very pleasant people,” 
Arthur replied. 

At this juncture a gentleman who had joined 
the group interrupted with a statement addressed 
to Arthur smilingly: “There is one feature about 
the City of the Lakes that will make you feel at 
home, Mr. Pendleton. Although we are inland 
and far removed from salt water, yet you will find 
that the codfish is very much in the swim.” This 
sally caused some merriment but drew a reproach 
from Alicia. 

“Don’t speak of it,” said Arthur, laughing; 
“you make me feel homesick. In my imagina- 
tion I see the fishing fleet come in from the banks 
as I used to so often when at home.” 

“The yacht club fleet coming in from a cruise 
will be the best substitute we can offer,” said 
Blake good-naturedly. 

“You will find something to take its place I am 


ALICIA 


173 


sure,” said Alicia, smiling brightly as she passed 
among her guests. 

It was later in the evening that Arthur saw her 
passing through the conservatory. She stopped 
for a moment, and sitting on a low stool, leaned 
her head upon her hands as she bowed over a 
beautiful red rose to inhale its fragrance. He 
watched her. 

She had the oval face that artists love to paint, 
and as her head rested upon her little hand he 
observed the tiny wrist of steel that grew into her 
rounded arms of perfect curve; and as a pretty 
brook in its flowing widens into a pool of crystal 
beauty perfect in its charm, so they lost them- 
selves in the full-rounded, glorious shoulders 
that sloped gently to mingle in the sweetness of 
the wide expanse of her bosom. 

She arose, and proudly erect she stood upon her 
tiny feet, and as gracefully as a fawn, light-poised 
and firm. With perfect grace her lithe, supple 
form supported itself from her dainty waist that 
in its smallness a man’s two hands might almost 
span. Unconscious of her grace she was grace 
itself. Her bearing was beautiful, queenly, rare. 
Her muscles were like steel; her skin like velvet; 
her flesh firm as marble ; her hair was rich and dark. 

Her eyes were a mystery. They were dark, but 
defied description. There is a color that one sees 


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in the dark rich blue of the sea as it grows darker 
and darker with the heavy shadings of fast 
approaching night, lightened by the wondrous 
purple after-glow of the sunset that is gone that 
suggested their hue. Large, full, — and deep as the 
sea itself, — they revealed her soul that shone there 
with a delicious, sweet, soft, mysterious light — 
like the glow of a sacred lamp at the altar. Truth 
dwelt in her breast, and lightened the intellectu- 
ality of her' countenance with its own radiance, 
which showed the thoughtful mind and cultured 
nature. 

She loved the open air, the sky, the fields, the 
woods ; — loved the teachings of nature, and 
listened to her counsel. She was an athlete with 
all the glow of the heroic in her being; she loved 
the god Pan and he wantonly wooed and wor- 
shipped her; she was simplicity, honesty, truth 
itself, and had no guile, and knew no evil. 

The ordinary pettiness of a woman’s mind was 
not hers, and the ordinary selfishness of a woman’s 
heart was to her a strange and unknown emotion. 
She was open-minded, kind, natural, sympathetic, 
unceremonious. A wondrous woman this — 
she combined a gentle spirit with an iron will; a 
bright mind with a sweet disposition; philo- 
sophical thought with a sunny nature; a bold 
wisdom with the simplicity of a child. She had 


ALICIA 


175 


all the sweetness and excellence of nature in her 
heart which was the most generous that ever beat 
in a woman’s bosom. 

Her courage was sublime, for she had a fine 
scorn of danger. The corpuscles of her blood 
were red ; and she was one to lead a forlorn hope, 
to take the last chance, to contest with fate, and 
to struggle with destiny. 

She was human with ideal standards. She 
was earthy, but not material. She was uni- 
versal, but she had no worldliness. Her beautiful 
spirit evidenced itself in her manner, which was 
one of indescribable charm; it was unstudied — 
natural — and showed her brilliancy without 
artificiality. She delighted; she pleased; she 
fascinated; for she had a touch of genius — just 
a spark of the divine fire — she had drunk nectar 
with the gods. 

Arthur approached her. She looked up and 
smiled. “Do you know that I have never seen 
the ocean,” she said. 

“How sorry I am,” Arthur replied feelingly. 
“I wish I could describe its influence to you. It 
has been such a great part of my life. I always 
feel that the sea is holding some sort of mysterious 
influence over my life.” 

“I have felt the mystery of the sea,” replied 
Alicia, “though I have never seen it.” 


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“I feel that you are one who can take the 
wings of the morning and fly to the uttermost 
parts of the earth,” said Arthur. 

“I have frequently done so,” said Alicia 
simply. 

“And I believe you can sound the depths of 
old ocean better that I who was born at sea, and 
have spent most of my life upon its shores.” 

“Born at sea ?” she repeated. 

And then he told her of the Albatross; and she 
sat in a low willow chair with her hands folded 
in her lap and listened with rapt attention to his 
earnest musical tones. And then their conversa- 
tion drifted, like a boat upon its waters, to the 
subject of the sea. He told her of its moods of 
softest calm when reflecting the turquoise of the 
heavens, it changed to a burnished shield of gold 
with the glow of the sunset, and became a sheen 
of silver when the moon sailed into the sky, and 
its placid surface, still as a mirror, reflected the 
stars shining like bright candle beams ; and how 
its billows mounted to the height of the tallest 
masts when the storm rode the blast in fury. 
And he told her of the shells in the highest 
mountains, and the lowest caverns of the earth, 
that told their tales of the waters that had once 
flowed over all; of the clouds that rise from the 
sea and float inland to make the rivers and 


ALICIA 


177 


streams and the showers that freshen the earth 
and make it fruitful and inviting; of the stones 
and rocks that once dwelt in its depths, now 
raised to the dignity of the home or the temple; 
of the sap of the vine and spreading tree, and the 
sweet life-blood of the flower, and the dew-drop 
upon the long tangled grass of early morning that 
awaits the coming of the reapers, that once flashed 
in the spray of the driving wind as it dipped its 
hand in the sea. And they talked of the won- 
drous forces and movements of nature traceable 
to the mysterious waters of old ocean, and 
they spoke of distant voyages, and of strange 
lands, and foreign peoples, and of other customs 
and lives differing from their own. 

Their thoughts kindled at each other’s fires and 
with absorbed minds they were scarce conscious 
of the passing time. Alicia recalled herself with 
an effort. 

“What a sad hostess I am,” she said as she 
left him to mingle with her guests, while a mental 
glow warmed his being. He felt the sympathetic 
touch of a strong intellectuality and a sweet 
sensitive nature. And in all the years that fol- 
lowed with their mysterious developments, the 
influence of that hour never left him. Even to 
his last moment he still saw her, with her eyes 
turned upon him, as he told her of the Albatross, 


12 


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ALICIA 


and as they talked of old ocean, and drifted 
together on the mysterious tides of thought into 
the vast realm of the Unknown. 

The first year of their residence in the City of 
the Lakes seemed to Arthur and Luthie to pass 
quickly away. Arthur was much taken up with 
the establishment of his law office, and the chief 
hours of the day, except such time as was given 
to business that demanded his attention, were 
closely devoted to the study of the law. Luthie 
was engaged in all the details of establishing the 
new home, and she found much opportunity for 
the gratification of her excellent taste, which 
evoked Arthur’s approval and fostered her de- 
light. She made many pleasing acquaintances, 
and Arthur also found some among the people 
he met in various ways. Their home life had 
from its inception been most pleasant down to 
the present time, though in some respects they 
each found their new existence a disappointment 
and falling far short of the bright expectation it 
had so fondly promised. 

To Arthur the loss of the companionship of his 
father and mother seemed at first unendurable, 
and altogether irreparable. He found the prac- 
tice of the law distasteful to him. In actual 
practice it fell far short of the theory from a moral 
standpoint, he found, and he saw it was quite 


ALICIA 


179 


impossible for him to follow its pursuit with any 
satisfaction of mind at all. The insight he 
obtained into business and the business methods 
that prevailed was no more pleasing to him, and 
he soon perceived that the development of his 
Canadian mines would not only be best to his 
liking, but would take all the time he felt he could 
afford to devote to practical affairs. 

Arthur found that the City of the Lakes had 
many natural advantages in its location on that 
inland sea, and the beautiful climate, with won- 
derful view of lake and river, and a park of sur- 
passingly natural loveliness that some good chance 
had spared from the crudities of man’s feeble 
attempts at art, appealed to his fine senses, but 
the social complexion of the place was a disap- 
pointment to him. He noted an absence of that 
degree of public spirit to which he had been 
accustomed, and that there was but a feeble 
distinctive sentiment or spirit characterizing the 
community aside from ordinary commercialism. 
The character of the mass was necessarily 
governed by and refiected the elements that 
composed it. But there are a great variety of 
people, notwithstanding, among the inhabitants 
of a city of three hundred thousand beings and 
more, and Luthie and Arthur found their ac- 
quaintances and friends growing slowly in 


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number as time passed. Among these, and 
quite the first and always the most prominent, 
and with whom they became most closely asso- 
ciated, were Mr. and Mrs. Edmund Blake. 

Luthie had acquired easily, and within a com- 
paratively short time, an ardent liking for social 
matters quite surprising to one acquainted with 
her simple life, and hitherto quiet tastes. This 
fondness grew into a passion with indulgence 
until, with a growing love for the costly and 
fashionable as well as the beautiful in dress and 
surroundings, it began in a considerable degree 
to rule her life and control her thought. Fashion- 
able society became a fad with her and so thor- 
oughly that Arthur in some degree from the 
necessity of the situation as well as by the prompt- 
ings of his own social nature, and almost uncon- 
sciously, found himself partaking considerably 
of affairs of such nature. With it all he found 
but little to his taste. The cravings of his nature 
were not satisfied, and he discovered that his best 
solace came from communion with himself, or 
his old friends his books — ^with one exception, 
made possible by the growing friendship of 
Luthie and himself with the Blakes. 

Arthur and Luthie also had frequent oppor- 
tunity of associating with Vivian Reide. Dr. 
Reide with his daughter had retired to a beau- 


ALICIA 


181 


tiful spot on the shores of the lake. His place 
consisted of forty acres of land suitably appor- 
tioned between woodland, meadow, lawn, and 
garden, and here Dr. Reide took respite from 
the exacting cares of a busy professional life, 
and found quiet enjoyment in the care of his 
place, and a rapture in the companionship of his 
daughter. 

It was a beautiful spot, and to one of his taste 
and fondness for nature and outdoor life, to- 
gether with a regard for seclusion that had grown 
upon him within the past dozen years, it pre- 
sented attractions that never failed to solace and 
satisfy him. Vivian was frequently the guest 
of Luthie and Arthur, as was also at times Dr. 
Reide, who maintained a strong interest in his 
young friends. 

His motherless little daughter had grown into 
her beautiful young womanhood under his 
fostering and jealous care, and his devoted love 
for her and his watchful solicitude for her wel- 
fare and happiness easily became the main 
feature of his existence, and dominated every 
thought of his bosom. She returned his affection 
with an intensity that was characteristic of her 
ardent nature, but did not seem able to restrain 
at times her light-hearted willfulness, or a daring 
waywardness, — indications of which not only 


182 


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stirred Dr. Reide to the greatest depths of fierce 
concern, but rendered him continually a prey to 
an ever-increasing anxiety, and at times a frenzied 
apprehension for her future. 

Jack Landseer often met Vivian at the Pen- 
dleton’s. Dr. Reide had a fondness for Jack. 
His hearty, open, frank manliness, and his serious 
thought and purposes in life of the best type, 
could not fail to impress a man of Dr. Reide’s 
nature most favorably, and the young planter 
found himself a welcome guest at the beautiful 
home of the Reide’s on the shores of the lake. 
Their common interest in agricultural and horti- 
cultural subjects, and the always interesting topic 
of the development of some fine type of animal 
for dairy or stable, conserved their mutual com- 
panionship along with the other thought and 
expression that attracted the attention of their 
well-developed minds. 

The bright vivacious nature of Vivian was 
most attractive to Jack Landseer. It contrasted 
strongly with the straightforward simplicity of 
his manner. She seemed to stimulate his best 
thought, and he brightened in her presence as the 
flowers raise their heads in the sunlight. Her 
strange moods wrought a wonderful spell over 
him. They fascinated him while he wondered at 
it. Her merry laugh was music to his ear, and 


ALICIA 


183 


he found her society not only charming, but 
becoming, almost before he realized it, indis- 
pensable. 

The acquaintance of Arthur and Luthie with 
Mr. and Mrs. Edmund Blake gradually assumed 
the intimate proportions of cordial friendship, 
and Vivian naturally became a member of this 
small circle. 

It was through the acquaintance of Arthur that 
Dr. Reide met Edmund Blake; and although he 
knew it not, the fate that had taken Dr. Reide to 
the Albatross held forth its hand again and led 
him on into the vale of shadow and mystery that 
lay hidden in the future. 


184 


ALICIA 


CHAPTER XVII. 

ON THE GOLF LINKS. 

Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Pendleton and Mr. and 
Mrs. Edmund Blake were among the most prom- 
inent members of the Conjockety Golf Club. 
The links were laid out in a fair meadow, upon 
the floor of the smooth turf that was covered by the 
perfect product of nature’s loom of soft green 
velvet, and reached across its wide lovely expanse 
into the wilder and more rugged country beyond. 
These members were very enthusiastic and gave 
considerable attention to the game, and all of them 
except Luthie became very skillful in its play. 
Alicia particularly excelled and she easily became 
the foremost player of the women of the club. 
Next to her, Vivian Reide tied the honors with 
several dashing young matrons of the club. 

Mr. Blake and Mr. Pendleton divided the 
honors about evenly among the men; and the 
former seemed to particularly enjoy combining 
his excellent skill with that of Vivian Reide. 
Luthie cared more for the social features of the 
game than the actual play, and as the others 
became more and more interested in the actual 


ON THE GOLF LINKS 


185 


work of the sport her own interest lessened until 
she visited the grounds less often and gradually 
became absorbed in social functions of a more 
conventional and elaborate type. 

Arthur and Alicia played together frequently. 
They were both ardent lovers of nature, and no 
more beautiful spot can be imagined than the 
landscape over which they strolled and their 
vision embraced, as they drove the ball forward 
amidst the fascinations of the play. Their ac- 
quaintance gradually ripened from day to day 
into a sincere and noble friendship, and uncon- 
sciously their lives expanded and grew together. 
Their friendship, as it blossomed forth, growing 
out of poetical relationship of noble feeling and 
sentiment, not only grew ideal, but their higher 
culture gradually elevating them above the ordi- 
nary level of tradition and prejudice made life 
for them inspiring, and introduced them into the 
higher domain of God’s reality, hidden in the 
mists of the artificial world in which so many 
people live. 

Arthur’s intense soul found ready sympathy 
from Alicia’s responsive intellect, and he gradu- 
ally led her up the dazzling heights of his fine 
thought and her spirit expanded under the magic 
of his inspiration, while she at all times retained 
her love for simpler things, which taste sweetened 


186 


ALICIA 


her wondrous sense of understanding and sym- 
pathy. 

The weeks of the early spring that found them 
at their play crowded so fast one upon the other 
that the dropping leaves of autumn rustled be- 
neath their feet ere they were aware that the 
summer had flown. During this time they had 
ranged in their thought a wide fleld of intellectual 
discussion as well as moral topics of a social kind. 
Alicia’s intellectual force and just nature had 
prepared her for Arthur’s thought concerning 
economic problems that engrossed his serious 
attention, and fostered his fervent zeal. 

One bright afternoon in the early fall, becoming 
impatient for the arrival of the others, they began 
to play alone, and their conversation drifted to a 
general consideration of the pertinent evils of 
modern society which Arthur discussed with 
kindling enthusiasm. He pictured with fervor 
the removal of weaknesses and errors that ob- 
tained in the modern social state and the con- 
summation of the happiness and well-being of all 
its members, with the reforms that, he affirmed, 
would be established by a quickened social con- 
science. The evils with which society is bur- 
dened, he maintained, came from two causes: — 
first, an archaic religious superstition; and 
second, an inordinate self-interest. He asserted 


ON THE GOLF LINKS 


187 


that all attempts at reform, betterment of condi- 
tions, attainment of culture, or a saner life, must 
be fruitless without effective efforts against such 
causation. 

“But do you not think, Arthur, that the 
religious tolerance of the time is manifest in our 
civilization? Is not selfishness diminishing as 
evidenced by the generosity of modern society — 
as for instance, in our libraries and hospitals 

“That question, Alicia, is best answered, I 
think, by the statement that society has not 
fulfilled its promises of advancement. It is true 
that doctrinal theology has shown a great and 
beneficial effect of a liberalizing spirit of a deter- 
mined progressive thought, but law and custom 
which control and determine the welfare of the 
people, are rooted often in religious forms and 
teachings that belong to a remote past, and to the 
actual hindrance of social advancement, and 
most fatally affecting the pursuit of happiness. 
The institutions of which you speak, Alicia, have 
not the significance, I think, which you suggest, 
in view of the fact that they have always obtained, 
and in about the same proportion, to the needs of 
society. In fact, are they not often created as a 
result of either or both causes of which we speak ?’’ 

“But if that were so, is not society a beneficiary 
notwithstanding ?” Alicia enquired. 


188 


ALICIA 


“No, Alicia, I think not, for remove the causes 
and their need becomes lessened if not useless, and 
put a spirit of tolerance and justice in their places, 
and they contribute in a thousand and one other 
and better ways to the object desired.” 

“I understand you, Arthur,” said Alicia softly. 

His heart stirred at her sympathy. He looked 
into her face that glowed with feeling, and he felt 
the inspiration of her understanding. His emo- 
tions were deeply touched, and he experienced a 
new ardor of existence growing into his being 
that he could not analyze, as his spirit thrilled 
with the first faint awakenings of the divine 
felicity of a true companionship with a woman. 

“Oh, Arthur, you inspire me so deeply for the 
needs of society,” said Alicia feelingly. “So many 
things that exist about us in everyday life that I have 
grown accustomed to, and have believed natural 
and proper, you have taught me are unnatural 
and injurious. Things that I have despaired of 
being possible of betterment you have taught me 
to see, in the divine order of things, are but in a 
transient state. You have given me a faith that 
bids me hope that every wrong shall be righted.” 

“You suggest, Alicia, the awakened conscience of 
society that shall make way for the advance of a 
new age. The close of the nineteenth century 
witnessed the triumph of science; the progress of 


ON THE GOLF LINKS 


189 


the twentieth shall celebrate the crowning of the 
Humanities.” 

“But, Arthur, is not the situation encouraging ? 
Should not one be hopeful ? Is not the world pro- 
gressing as rapidly as can be expected? Is not 
this in reality the Golden Age as compared with 
former periods ?” 

“Alicia, the world has made progress,” he 
answered, “ but has retrograded in other respects. 
This is an age of materialism, so violent and head- 
strong as to endanger the very life of humanity. 
This is not the Golden Age. When the fetisch of the 
church shall have loosed its grasp upon the intel- 
ligence of mankind, and when the Holy Spirit of 
Christ (Holy because of his disinterested regard 
for humanity, his simplicity, and his humility), 
and the Spirit of all the other Inspired Ones, who 
have wrought for the uplifting of humanity and 
whose names have gone also into history, together 
with the countless number of those of Divine 
Spirit who, unnamed and unknown, have gone 
down ‘to the dreamless dust,’ shall dwell in the 
hearts of men, Jew and Gentile, Protestant and 
Catholic alike; then shall the labor of the world 
be divided equally among us all, and shall be 
done with facility, and dispatch, and the hours of 
leisure, study, and recreation shall be long and 
joyous, and life shall be an inspiration; then shall 


190 


ALICIA 


the state no longer dishonor God by committing 
murder, and shock the senses and brutalize the 
spirit of its people; then the burden of taxation 
shall be equally distributed, and a system of equal 
rights, privileges, and advantages for all prevail; 
then truth and justice shall be the principles of 
life, and consideration of self shall be superseded 
by devotion to the general good ; then ostentation 
and vulgarity shall be replaced by the simple life ; 
then shall the money-greed have pulled the struc- 
ture that supports it down upon itself and expired ; 
and oh, Alicia, then no longer shall it be possible for 
the mother in the slums with breaking heart, see 
her dying child piteously plead for the juice of an 
orange to moisten the feverish baby-lips, because 
her last few cents have gone for a dry loaf of 
bread, while the pampered child, a few blocks 
away, spurns the luscious fruit his surfeited palate 
mocks; then shall the misery, wretchedness, and 
crime of the modern indissoluble marriage tie, 
based upon a cruel and vicious religious super- 
stition, have been replaced by a sacred regard 
for the rights and happiness of men and women 
by consecrating the separation of alien souls as 
well as the attempted union of them, — then truly 
shall there be the Golden Age, and the purposes 
of God fulfilled upon the earth.” 

They had reached a seat by a winding path 


ON THE GOLF LINKS 


191 


beneath the outstretched limbs of a white birch 
tree from a pendant branch of which there hung 
an oriole’s nest, which the trusting bird had built 
barely beyond reach of the hand. The afternoon 
sun in all the voluptuous splendor of a rare autumn 
day spilled its radiance over the meadow, scatter- 
ing the gold among the soft, fine blades of the 
grass and shooting its warm, pulsing rays through 
the trembling, sighing limbs of the birch, while it 
wrapped its mantle of glory and splendor about 
them. 

The warm panting breath of the autumn, 
fragrant with the suggestion of the harvest, came 
to their senses through the hazy atmosphere that 
languidly rested in fragmentary, fleecy clouds 
upon the drowsy landscape. The intense blue 
of the sky seemed to have for the moment a rich- 
ness and depth of color, a feeling, a life, as though 
it were the eye of the universe through which 
looked the soul of the Creator. 

Suddenly there was a sound of voices, and 
Vivian’s laughing tones exclaimed, “Ah, here are 
the truants,” and the next moment Edmund 
Blake and Vivian Reide stood before them. 

“So this is the way you play golf ?” she inquired 
merrily. “Such sober countenances and earnest 
tones I have never before witnessed upon the golf 
links.” 


192 


ALICIA 


“We are planning for the perfection of human 
happiness,” said Arthur. 

“Perfect happiness ? I believe you have dis- 
covered the secret,” she said, glancing from one 
to the other. 

“I will impart it to you,” said Alicia, smiling. 
“It is based on the proposition — ‘Whatsoever ye 
would that men should do unto you, do ye even 
so unto them.’ ” 

“The church has been preaching that for 
ages,” said Blake. 

“Yes,” Arthur replied. “It has been preach- 
ing that for two thousand years, but its practice 
has too often been hollow and superficial. Ma- 
terialism has largely tainted its blood and cor- 
rupted its spirit, and its religion, therefore, has 
been on the lips merely, not in the heart. Society 
has necessarily felt the influence of this condition, 
and expediency to a large extent has become the 
rule of life. The majority of the people show no 
regard for spiritual philosophy, and fail miserably 
to put into practice the simplest ethical truths 
so vital to their well-being. They lack real 
thoughtfulness, and have evolved no ideal in 
life.” 

“What is the remedy ?” asked Blake, becoming 
interested in the discussion. “Education, I 
suppose.” 


ON THE GOLF LINKS 


193 


“Yes,” said Arthur, ‘‘but education leading to 
culture. The materialism of the ordinary educa- 
tion concerns itself chiefly with intellectual 
development with a fatal neglect of the higher and 
finer artistic and ethical feelings. The ordinary 
college education of today gives little, if any, 
moral or spiritual development ; and any attention 
to ethical thought is absolutely unknown. Men 
are taught how to best use their faculties to make 
a living — not what is life, or how to live.” 

“You consider social progress dependent wholly 
upon individual culture, Arthur ?” 

“Certainly. Society is made up of its members. 
But individual culture must not be personal to 
itself for true social progress, but must be used 
for the benefit of society. The ignorant and un- 
cultured are all about one. The crying need is 
apparent every hour of the day. The mission 
field is close at hand — before one’s very eyes and 
ears. The best mission field is the one filled with 
heathen all about us — sleek and well-clothed 
heathen though they often be, and the religious 
truths we should teach are the practical ones of 
the religion of democracy.” 

“And you mean by that — ” 

“The philosophic anarchism of Proudhon,” 
interrupted Alicia smiling, as she joined in the 
conversation. 


13 


194 


ALICIA 


“Which, in substance, is the Golden Rule of 
Jesus,” continued Arthur, “and is a practical and 
scientific demonstration of the ideal.” 

“Jesus only promulgated the rule,” said Alicia. 
“It was formulated by Hillel, the Hebrew moralist. 
Moses adopted it, and it was reaflSrmed by Jesus. 
In fact, he says ‘this is the law and the prophets.* 
Actually, Jesus took the basic truths of Christian- 
ity from the Jews: — the Fatherhood of God, the 
Brotherhood of Man, and the Ten Command- 
ments.” 

“How do you explain then the social treatment 
of the Jews in many of the social aspects of Ameri- 
can life ?” asked Blake. 

“It is the most shameful spectacle of the age, 
and comes from the ignorant and selfish religious 
teachings of superstitious Christianity,” said 
Alicia. 

“But which is not the Christianity of Jesus,” 
added Arthur. 

“No,” said Alicia. “The chief Mosaic law 
was the Love of Man, and the obligations of 
human brotherhood, which Jesus adopted and 
made the guiding star of his life and teaching, 
and enabled him to take the name of Messiah, 
and its principle formulated by Judiaism and 
reaffirmed by Christianity shall yet be the basic 
creed of the religion of democratic America that 


ON THE GOLF LINKS 


195 


shall unite Jew and Christian, all men, and com- 
bine them in their work for humanity, literature, 
art, philosophy, ethical culture, and cause them 
to work together in sympathy and harmony for 
the uplifting of mankind.’* Alicia spoke with 
feeling, and her face glowed with enthusiasm. 

“Aside from the evils in our social system based 
upon religious superstition do you think the 
materialism of the time equally hurtful to the 
national character ?” asked Blake. 

“Yes,” answered Arthur. “As a nation we have 
betrayed the trust of our forefathers. America is 
evidencing the decrepitude in her national life that 
shows the decay of the high principles of morality 
and liberty which were formerly the heart-beats of 
her existence. She has lost faith in spiritual con- 
victions. We truly justify the Englishman’s 
accusation that we are a nation of shop-keepers; 
that the Atlantic seaboard is one long counter. 
The author of Sweetness and Light had good 
reason for despairing of the American people 
ever being able to appreciate the word culture.” 

“We are a practical people,” said Blake. 

“The truth is we are not only practical, material, 
but we are dishonest,” said Arthur. ‘ America 
is the Sick Man of the West. We are continually 
on the verge of national nervous prostration. 
Anxiety about stocks is the chief concern of 


196 


ALICIA 


existence, and the greed for the dollar the impulse 
of life. We no longer dream dreams, ‘live for a 
dream, fight for a dream, die for a dream.* 
Imaginative faith is gone, and no longer becomes 
a potent force to work out of our visions virile 
substance, and shape the ideal into national life 
and existence 

“I had begun to think from previous talks 
with you that you were inclined to think that 
Socialism was the cure for the evils of the time, 
but from your conversation today it appears that 
you believe society will work out its destiny from 
the efforts of the individual. That is my thought 
also. I do not believe in Communism,” said 
Blake. 

‘T think Socialism is going to have a very bene- 
ficial effect on the future of society,” Arthur 
replied, “and I believe in Communism in many 
respects. But it is my firm belief that the pro- 
gress of society must depend upon the individual 
— upon the initiative of strong ethical personality. 
I confess I am doubtful of results from a system 
that would weaken individuality. The highest 
social progress of the future is to come, I believe, 
from the development of the ethical powers of the 
individual to the utmost, with absolutely personal 
freedom.” 

“The Darwin theory of ‘The Struggle for Ex- 


ON THE GOLF LINKS 


197 


istence,” continued Arthur, “will give way to 
the newer evolution which may be stated as being 
The Struggle for the Existence of Others, and his 
law of the ‘Survival of the Fittest’ shall give way 
for the Survival of All. This will produce a high- 
minded individual effort resulting for the good of 
society — an ethical co-operative movement of 
cultured individuals.” 

“Yes, I think that society and the individual 
are inseparably connected, but in such a manner 
that the one cannot entirely merge into the other,” 
said Blake. 

“I think that is true,” said Arthur. “The 
relations of the individuals that compose society, 
in their social connections, are peculiar and com- 
plex; and they still retain their personality while 
they influence and mould society, and it in turn 
influences and moulds them. Society adapting 
the culture of each individual and conserving it 
cumulatively, a true ethical social impulse results 
which is the fundamental condition of pro- 
gress.” 

“There is Luthie coming,” exclaimed Vivian 
suddenly, looking over the meadow where a man 
and woman could be seen slowly making their 
way over the sward. 

“That must be Jack with her,” said Arthur. 
“They are following the course to find us.” 


198 


ALICIA 


“I didn’t know that Jack was in town,” said 
Vivian intently. 

“Why he has not been,” answered Arthur. “He 
must have come today unexpectedly.” 

Blake looked at Vivian and saw a rosy flush 
mantling her cheek. He spoke in a tone of 
annoyance. “We will not get any play today if 
we don’t begin,” he said. “The sun is getting 
low.” 

They all walked towards Luthie and Jack. 

“Why so serious?” called out Vivian as they 
approached. 

“We have been talking about Cuba,” said 
Luthie as they met. “Jack has been telling me 
about the cruelties practiced by the Spaniards 
upon the Cuban women and children as shown by 
Senator Proctor’s report.” 

“Has it been made public ?” asked Arthur. 

“Yes, and it is a recital of practices beyond 
belief. It is something terrible,” said Jack with 
intense feeling. 

“I don’t see why the President doesn’t inter- 
vene and drive the Spaniards out, and set Cuba 
free,” said Alicia, her face glowing with humanity. 

“I hope he won’t do anything of the kind,” said 
Blake. “It will hurt business.” 

“Business ! Business ! I am sick of the word,” 
exclaimed Alicia with sudden passion. 


ON THE GOLF LINKS 


199 


“That is a word I never hear,” said Luthie. 

“I think there is not much danger,” continued 
Blake. “McKinley will not do anything to 
injure the interests of the country.” 

“It doesn’t rest with McKinley alone,” inter- 
rupted Jack. “I believe he has the moral status 
to rise to the occasion and heed the voice of 
humanity and the demand of the American 
people for intervention. But Congress will, if 
he doesn’t.” 

“Why, Jack, I thought you were a Republi- 
can,” interrupted Blake. 

“I am, or at least I thought I was,” replied 
Jack. 

“I predict,” he continued, “that if Spain doesn’t 
withdraw from Cuba within a very short time. 
Congress will declare war, and the American army 
will set Cuba free. I have been among the 
people — the people that Lincoln called “the 
plain people” — and they are just as earnest for 
the freedom of Cuba as they were for the freedom 
of the slaves.” 

“War would do some lines of business good,” 
said Blake thoughtfully. “I would like to get a 
contract for the equipment of the soldiers.” 

“I will give you an order for one uniform now,” 
said Jack quietly. 


200 


ALICIA 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

BENEATH THE ELMS OF OLD YALE ONCE MORE. 

The days of autumn ripened one by one and 
fell from the stem of Time in the fullness of their 
maturity, and it was not long before the icy 
breath of old Boreas made the air crisp and 
sparkling, and caused the blood to tingle. The 
golfing season was over and the club-house closed. 
The meadow was now deserted. The grass had 
turned to a dull brown, and along the edges of the 
paths and about the shrubs and bushes the fierce 
VN^inds of November had driven the curled leaves 
in countless numbers that so short a time ago 
danced in the summer breezes. They lay in 
piles, or, at times, in long, thin rows as the grass 
lies in the summer beneath the stroke of the 
scythe. The branches of the trees were bare, 
and looked spectral against the grey sky that 
plainly showed the sign of hidden snow. 

Keen winds and driving leaves, and faded and 
shrunken fields beneath sodden skies are not 
devoid of beauty or inspiration to the true lover 
of nature, and Alicia loved the time as well as the 
charm and glowing force of the awakening spring. 


THE ELMS OF OLD YALE ONCE MORE 201 


To her the voice of nature seemed to be particu- 
larly pregnant with meaning at this season of the 
year. Its full-volumed tones carried to her heart 
a message that no other period of the year pos- 
sessed. There was a melancholy in the air that 
often suited her mood, and the sad and prophetic 
voice of autumn seemed never to make her dis- 
consolate, but rather soothed and inspired her 
sober and thoughtful senses. She delighted to 
go forth on long walks through the park, and the 
country-side, and to return with cheek and heart 
aglow with exhil aration. W armly clad she braved 
the fiercest winds, and her little feet never grew 
weary as she tramped many a mile of frost-bitten 
landscape. 

One wild, fierce day Arthur joined her in her 
walk, and their wanderings took them through 
the city and beyond, along the country road, for 
many miles. They had gone quite a distance 
before they realized its extent, and then it sud- 
denly became apparent to Arthur that a storm 
was imminent, and that it was growing dark. 

“We must return at once, Alicia,” he said 
hurriedly. “How cold it is! I fear that your 
light jacket does not give you sufficient protection.” 

“Oh, yes it does,” Alicia answered, but even as 
she spoke she dimly realized that she was 
trembling with the cold. 


202 


ALICIA 


They turned back, and walked at a swift pace 
to reach home before the storm. Alicia began to 
experience a sense of weariness through her 
exertions and the struggle with the increasing 
force of the wind which at times seemed to take 
her breath away. They had reached the links 
when suddenly the air was filled with driving 
snow that whirled fiercely about them and dashed 
into their faces on the wings of a hurricane, as a 
blizzard of the wildest type burst its fury upon 
them. Alicia gave a little gasp of dismay as the 
wind almost swept her from her feet. She clung 
to Arthur’s arm in desperation as she battled 
with the storm, and suddenly she felt him free 
himself from her grasp, and then saw him quickly 
pull off his overcoat and try to put it on her. 

“No! No! Arthur,” she cried to him, resisting. 
But he seized her in his arms and by main force 
slipped the overcoat about her and buttoned it 
tightly. Then he took her arm and protecting 
her from the blinding sleet as much as possible, 
with bowed heads they struggled on. 

Suddenly Alicia felt a sense of weakness and she 
faltered. ‘T cannot go further,” she gasped. 

He looked about him in desperation. He saw 
they were not far from the golf club-house. It 
had been closed since the end of the golfing season 
but it would afford her the shelter and rest she so 


THE ELMS OF OLD YALE ONCE MORE 203 


urgently needed. He had his key to the house 
in his pocket, and with sudden resolution he took 
her little form in his arms and hastened towards 
the club-house. He soon reached the building, 
that looked dark and lonesome with shutters 
closed. He made his way to the veranda and 
opened the front door. As he did so he thought 
he heard the sound of voices. He closed the 
outer door and stood in the darkness in the hall- 
way in amazement, still holding Alicia in his 
arms, and panting from his fierce exertions. 
From a slight opening of the door of the lounging 
room a beam of light streamed out into the hall- 
way. He started to follow the light to its source, 
and as his footsteps echoed through the hallway 
he heard the suppressed scream of a woman, and 
then a man’s voice called out in excitement, 
“Who is there?” 

He recognized the voice. “Are you there, 
Blake ?” he cried. 

There was silence, save for the murmur of low 
voices that came from the room. 

Then Arthur heard the voice call out again, 
“Who is there?” 

“It is I, — Pendleton,” Arthur answered as he 
reached the door, and pushing it open, he 
staggered into the room with Alicia in his 


arms. 


204 


ALICIA 


He placed her in a large, soft-cushioned chair 
before the fire. 

“Alicia!’^ exclaimed Blake. 

“We were walking, and were overtaken by the 
storm. She is exhausted,” explained Arthur, as 
he strove for breath. 

He heard a woman’s slight scream, and to his 
surprise he saw Vivian kneeling by Alicia and 
removing her wet wraps, and chafing her face and 
hands. Blake poured some liquor from a bottle 
that stood on the table and gave it to Alicia. 

Arthur took a cushion from a couch near the 
fire, and placed it under her head. 

In a few moments she spoke. “I feel better 
now,” she said with a faint smile. 

“You must take some refreshment,” said 
Vivian. She filled the glass again and made 
Alicia drink its contents, and gave her food from 
the table. Blake filled a glass and passed it to 
Arthur, and requested him to partake of the 
viands upon the table. 

The table was spread with a light repast con- 
sisting of the bottle of cocktails, some crackers, a 
quantity of cheese, and a plate of tarts. They all 
partook of the luncheon, and as they sat there 
eating and drinking and enjoying the grateful 
warmth of the fire, Blake explained how, in their 
zeal for the sport, he and Vivian had attempted 



He took her little form in his arms and hastened 
towards the club-house. 


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THE ELMS OF OLD YALE ONCE MORE 205 


to have one more game of golf, and had sought 
shelter in the club-house from the impending storm. 

And as the wind and storm beat against the 
windows, they suddenly heard a noise from 
without. 

“I wonder what that is.?^” exclaimed Arthur. 
“It may be some unfortunate person lost in the 
storm and calling for aid. I will go and see if 
anyone needs assistance.” 

“No, you must not go,” said Blake quickly, and 
he caught hold of Arthur, who had risen, and 
forced him into his chair. 

“You have suffered from the exposure to the 
storm, and your clothes are still wet. Stay by the 
fire, and I will go and see what the trouble is.” 

“I dread to have you go into that storm, Ed- 
mund,” said Alicia. Blake hastily left the room, 
and after a short time he returned. He spoke 
hurriedly. 

“How fortunate!” he exclaimed. “There is a 
hackman outside who, becoming confused in the 
storm, has come this way. Seeing our house, he 
called out to us. I have told him our situation 
and he has consented to take us home.” They 
entered the carriage and arrived home without 
further adventure. 

Winter now set in in earnest. Indoor attrac- 
tions supplanted those of the open air, and social 


206 


ALICIA 


entertainments passed the weeks along in rapid 
succession. Spring came. All nature woke from 
the sleep of winter, and the air grew soft and mild 
again. Arthur and Luthie had planned a party 
to enjoy the commencement exercises at Yale, and 
in the month of June they departed for New 
Haven. It was a week of much interest and 
enjoyment for all of the party, and it culminated 
in the Senior Promenade which was the most 
prominent social event of the week. 

It was towards the close of the ball that Arthur 
and Alicia sought the cool air of the beautiful 
night of that perfect June day, without the ball- 
room. Through the elms upon the campus the 
bright moon softly gleamed, and they wandered 
forth among the moonlight and the shadows. 

She leaned lightly upon his arm. The orchestra 
in the ballroom was playing a well-known air. 
It came to his ear faintly. It was the sweet old 
song of the campus. He heard it again dimly 
as he did that ne’er-forgotten day when he sat in 
the Varsity boat at New London waiting for the 
word. The spirit of that intense hour seemed 
to rest upon him once more with all its fierce, 
wondrous spell. Again he felt his heart bursting 
in his breast; again his blood ran like fire through 
his veins; again his breath came in suffocating 
gasps. 


THE ELMS OF OLD YALE ONCE MORE 207 


As in the moonlight he looked into her face, the 
sweet familiar cadences of the song rose and fell 
and seemed to bear him lightly away; and he 
thought he lived again a wondrous night, when a 
youth upon his father’s ship, beneath the magic 
charm of a perfect tropic night. The Albatross 
was off the coast of the land of the Incas. The 
air was soft and sweet, and laden with the spice- 
winds of distant isles. The ship lulled him, as the 
soft breeze toyed with the sail looming ghostly 
white towards the low-bending, passionate sky. 
The wondrous, magic beauty of the night stirred 
him as though his blood were mixed with rich, 
rare old wine. 

And as he looked into her eyes again he saw the 
perfect beauty of the stars as they flashed their 
soft, delicious light through the sensuous evening 
air. And then he knew that the longing of his 
soul upon that wondrous tropic night for some 
sweet spiritual influence — for the sacred touch of 
an ideal soul — that he had yearned for and found 
not, — had now come to him as gently and sweetly 
as the forgotten strains of that long-silenced song, 
or the memory of that wondrous tropic night upon 
the Albatross when close to Nature’s heart he felt 
her passionate pulses throbbing against his own. 

And they passed beneath the elms, in the dark- 
ness, together. 


208 


ALICIA 


CHAPTER XIX. 

THE QUEEN OF THE ROSES. 

Christmas had come and gone. Winter again 
held all in its fast embrace in this Northern land. 
Alicia had been fully occupied from early fall 
until now in various good works to which she was 
fondly attached. Her time in this respect had 
been more than usually engaged, and although it 
was well into the new year, her ardent attention 
to these worthy charitable and helpful ministra- 
tions of her devoted labors had hardly permitted 
her any social diversion whatever. The end of the 
holidays had now brought her some respite in this 
respect, and daintily gowned she now sat before 
the fire in her little sitting room adjoining her 
chamber, enjoying a well-earned rest. Dainty 
and sweet she looked as she sat there holding 
Luthie’s card, which the maid had just brought 
her, in her hand. She completed her toilet by 
fastening a single red rose at her corsage. 

Entering the drawing-room she greeted Luthie 
warmly. 

“I have brought you in person an invitation to 
our reception,” said Luthie prettily, her cheeks 


THE QUEEN OF THE ROSES 


209 


flushing with delight as she spoke of the coming 
event. 

“Oh, how delightful. We shall enjoy going 
so much,” said Alicia. 

“I am expecting Arthur every moment. He 
will call for me,” said Imthie. 

“Here he is now,” she added as she glanced 
out of the window, and a moment later Arthur 
entered. 

Greeting the ladies, he crossed the drawing- 
room to Alicia, where a smile of welcome gleamed 
from her glorious eyes. He bowed low over her 
hand in his knightly fashion, and the fragrance 
of the rose at her breast kissed his face. 

“What a sweet and beautiful rose,” he said. 

“It is my favorite flower,” Alicia replied softly. 

“Is it the Meteor ?” asked Luthie. 

“No,” Alicia replied, “it is the Liberty. It is 
the one rose I know of that combines such sweet- 
ness and beauty. I am very fond of it.” 

“May I have it ?” Arthur asked gently. 

Alicia hesitated. 

“How selfish, Arthur,” interrupted Luthie. 
“Don’t you know how a woman dislikes to dis- 
arrange her toilet ?” she said, with a merry laugh. 

“He has such a passion for flowers,” she added 
in explanation, addressing Alicia. “Do not give 
it to him, Alicia. It is your favorite flower. 


14 


210 


ALICIA 


and the only one you have.” Alicia smiled, and 
taking the rose from its resting place she fastened 
it upon Luthie’s bosom. 

It was a beautiful sight that greeted Mr. and 
Mrs. Blake as they entered the Pendleton home 
upon the evening of the reception. It was enter- 
ing fairyland to pass from the chill wintry air to 
the warm fragrant sweetness of their home. The 
reception hall was banked with roses of brilliant 
redness. Blake glanced at a single red rose 
Alicia wore at her breast and saw it repeated 
hundreds of times in the rooms about him. 
There were Liberty roses everywhere. The air 
was laden with their perfume. The dining-room 
was a mass of the same rich, fragrant flower. 
The center-piece of the polished mahogany was 
an exquisite punch bowl, wondrously wrought of 
polished glass, with daintily conceived figures of 
Bacchus glowing redly from its flashing surface 
as they pressed their lusty lips towards the liquid 
sweetness within the bowl. The guests of the 
Pendletons admired its beauty greatly. A wreath 
of the sweet red roses rested upon its top like a 
crown. The fragrant spiced wines that mingled 
in the bowl mixed their odors with the sweetness 
of the roses that encircled the crystal basin. The 
reception proved a most successful affair. The 
cultured hospitality of host and hostess had made 


I 


THE QUEEN OF THE ROSES 211 

it most highly enjoyable. The moments had 
flown on the wings of pleasure, and now at a late 
hour most of the guests had departed. Jack and 
Dr. Reide sat in the library engaged in conversa- 
tion. Through the open doorway into the dining- 
room Jack cast occasional glances, where light 
laughter, amidst which he could distinguish 
Vivian’s silvery tones, came to his ear most en- 
ticingly, as he heard their conversation. 

“You have lost your rose, Alicia,” said Blake, 
as he observed the flower missing from her dress. 

“Here is another,” said Luthie, coming forward 
with one in her hand. 

“Let me make compensation,” said Arthur 
hurriedly; and as he spoke he raised the wreath 
of roses from the punch bowl and placed it about 
Alicia’s neck. 

“I am sorry that we have not more necklaces,” 
said Arthur. “In lieu of them you ladies shall 
wear crowns of flowers,” he said, addressing 
Luthie and Vivian. Taking some roses he deftly 
shaped them in Luthie’s hair in the semblance of a 
crown. Blake placed the brilliant red blossoms 
in Vivian’s black tresses. As he touched her hair 
he felt its silken softness. As she raised her 
head she saw her father and Jack entering the 
doorway. Dr. Reide stood in the doorway and 
looked coldly at Blake. 


212 


ALICIA 


“Don’t you think that is a beautiful punch 
bowl, papa ?” said Vivian brightly. 

“It is, indeed,” he replied. “It is truly a work of 
art,” he said, addressing Arthur. “It looks as 
though it might have had a history. It is an ex- 
quisite production,” he said admiringly. 

“It has a history, but it is an uncanny tale. 
The bowl at one time graced the board of a Vene- 
tian nobleman, and although this is the dawn of 
the twentieth century and we are not superstitious, 
perhaps you will be startled to hear that there is a 
curse hanging over the bowl.” 

“A curse ?” exclaimed the doctor. 

“Yes,” said Arthur, smiling. “A curse that de- 
clares that whoever drinks from the bowl shall die 
a violent death.” 

“A violent death!” exclaimed Blake. 

And they all looked at each other wonderingly. 

“Why, we have all drunk except papa!” ex- 
claimed Vivian. 

“Won’t you drink?” said Arthur, laughing as 
he filled a glass and handed it to the doctor. 

He declined with a grave face. “Tell us the 
history of the bowl,” he said. 

Arthur looked about him and saw interest 
depicted upon the faces of all. 

“This bowl, centuries ago,” he said, “belonged 
to a Venetian nobleman, and was a noted master- 


THE QUEEN OF THE ROSES 


213 


piece of crystal art at the capital of the Adriatic 
when her marble palaces were the art centers of 
the world. It was presented to my father by a 
descendant of this nobleman in acknowledg- 
ment of the gratitude he bore my father for having 
saved his life at sea. The bowl had been rarely 
used. In the olden time they used to speak about 
it in a whisper. A curse hung over it. It was 
beautiful to look upon, but its draught was deadly 
pestilence. Whoever drank from its delicious 
depths was doomed to a violent and horrible 
death. So ran the weird legend. 

“The tale that has come down with it from that 
remote period is this. It was the time of the 
Feast of the Roses in the Venetian capital. In one 
of the noble families the celebration was at its 
height. The sweetest music filled the corridors 
and floated out the casement to mingle with the 
gently lapping waves of the moonlit tide. The 
daughter of the house was a beautiful girl, 
and she stood with the guests in a marble 
gallery amidst the richest paintings and tapes- 
tries, with this selfsame punch bowl filled to the 
brim. 

“All hearts beat merrily save the two rivals for 
the fair lady’s favor. The chimes of St. Mark’s 
struck the hour of midnight, and as the notes of 
the bells pealed forth, a cry of horror rose from the 


214 


ALICIA 


assemblage. The girl had stood there with a gar- 
land of roses encircling her throat. 

“ T drink to the Queen of the Roses/ the prince 
had cried as he raised his glass to her, dripping 
with sweetness from the depths of the crystal 
bowl. 

“ ‘You drink to the Queen of Death!’ his rival 
exclaimed as he plunged his poniard in his heart. 
The prince fell across the bowl and his heart’s 
blood mixed with the red wine of the feast. They 
laid him on a couch, dead, with the bloody dagger 
still lying beside the punch bowl, where it had 
fallen as they drew it from the wound. 

“The girl was beautiful in her paleness. They 
say she trembled slightly only as the dagger struck 
him. She seized his glass and touched it with her 
lips as she took it from his unresisting hand. She 
filled it from the bowl with the ruddy wine all 
stained and mixed with the ruddy currents of his 
heart. 

“ ‘To the Queen of the Roses !’ she cried wildly, 
as she drained the glass to the last drop, and she 
seized the poniard and plunged it into her breast, 
to the hilt.” 

As Arthur finished the weird tale they stood in 
silence, looking at each other with something akin 
to awe. 

“I drink to the Queen of the Roses,” exclaimed 


THE QUEEN OF THE ROSES 


215 


Arthur feelingly, raising his glass. He looked at 
Alicia, unconsciously. 

“You mean the Queens of the Roses,” said 
Luthie laughing. 

“The Queens of the Roses,” Arthur repeated 
after her. Blake filled his glass and his glance 
rested upon the crown of flowers he had lately 
fashioned. 

Dr. Reide looked coldly at him. Jack stood 
irresolute and grave. Then he filled a glass and 
looked at Vivian. She was looking at Blake, and 
as she felt Jack’s glance fall upon her she turned 
her head away. Jack raised his glass and bowed 
to Luthie. 

“I drink to the Queen of the Roses,” said 
Arthur, in tones sweet and low. They all drank 
in silence. Then they left the dining-room to 
prepare for departure 

It was Blake that attended Dr. Reide and his 
daughter to their carriage, and as they drove away 
Dr. Reide saw x\licia vainly striving to open her 
own carriage door, unheeded by the sleepy coach- 
man. Arthur had gone to the dining-room for 
her fan and gloves. Dr. Reide replied coldly to 
Blake’s cordial expression of good night, and he 
muttered in a low tone as the carriage left him. 

“What did you say, papa?” asked Vivian as 
she sank back upon the cushions. 


216 


ALICIA 


“Nothing,” he muttered. 

“Oh, yes you did. I heard you say something 
about being ‘harried by haste though bent on 
leisure.’ ” 

The physician laughed. 

“If you mean that I hurried you, you are a 
naughty papa, for I was not ready to come. It is 
not late,” she continued, as she looked at the sky 
which already began to show the grey of the 
coming dawn. 

“I thought you never would get through talking 
with Jack about those Jerseys,” she said pettishly. 
“He hardly spoke to me the whole evening,” she 
complained, with a toss of her head. 

“He probably felt that you did not lack atten- 
tion,” said her father shortly, and he relapsed 
into silence with closed eyes. 

The carriage rolled down the avenue on the 
way to their apartments at the hotel. Their 
driver halted a few moments to tighten some 
loosened strap about the harness, and the other 
carriage bearing Alicia and her husband home 
overtook them and preceded them down the 
avenue, and as they passed the Blake home, it 
stood at the curb. Alicia was ascending the steps 
of the house, and Blake stood by the carriage. 
He looked up eagerly as Vivian’s carriage passed, 
and he saw a white arm gleam from the carriage 


THE QUEEN OF THE ROSES 


217 


window — and then he felt a rose strike him full 
in the face. It smelled of the fragrance of her 
hair, and he caught it as it fell. 

As they stood beneath the chandelier in the 
broad reception hall Blake unclasped the opera 
cloak from Alicia’s shoulders and revealed the 
wreath of roses lying across her bosom like a 
chain. 

“That was a pretty idea of the necklace,” he 
said. 

‘‘Yes,” she responded dreamily. 

He spoke of the necklace and he thought of the 
crown of roses. 

As Alicia laid her fan upon her table in her 
chamber she noticed that her hands and arms 
were cold, and she observed that her host had 
evidently forgotten to hand her her gloves when he 
gave her the fan at the carriage door. She re- 
moved her gown and sat before her mirror, and 
there she saw reflected the wreath of roses still 
clinging about her neck. She heard her hus- 
band’s voice at her doorway. 

“Good-night, Queen of the Roses,” he said. 

“Good-night,” she answered. 

And as she sat there with Arthur’s roses fading 
on her bare bosom, the first streaks of the dawn 
glowed in the east and the rosy flush of morn 
peeping in at her window, emboldened, stole in 


218 


ALICIA 


and dispelled the shadows of the night that lay 
about her, and lighted up her chamber with the 
faint glimmer of the morning. 

And so the shadows that lingered in the re- 
cesses of her heart seemed to rise and float away 
before the dawn of a new day, as she sat there lost 
in thought, never moving, scarcely breathing, 
while she seemed to hear again in tones of full- 
volumed music, sweet and low, “I drink to the 
Queen of the Roses.” 


THE WAND OF WAR 


219 


CHAPTER XX. 

THE WAND OF WAR. 

It was the time of the early spring. It was 
midnight. The air was soft and the moon looked 
down upon the lake from a clear sky. It saw a 
small sailing yacht slowly creeping in the light 
breeze, shoreward, evidently trying to make the 
land before the wind failed altogether. Jack 
had run up from the City of the Lakes expecting 
to make the dock at the Reide’s home before the 
dusk, but the fickle wind had frustrated the plan. 
A glow in the sky showed the reflection of the 
lights of the city miles away. He was now ap- 
proaching the shore, and in a few minutes the 
sail was made snug and the boat tied to the wharf. 
Jack made his way along the walk reaching from 
the dock to the carriage-drive, which lead in its 
winding course to the house, which set back 
amidst some fine old trees on the lawn, quite a 
distance from the entrance to the place. Just 
outside the gate he suddenly saw a light brightly 
gleam amidst a clump of shrubbery that bordered 
the entrance to the place, and move out upon the 
road swiftly, to be quickly lost in the distance. 


220 


ALICIA 


He wondered at it without fathoming its mean- 
ing; and proceeded towards the house with the 
hope that Dr. Reide, tempted by the beauty of the 
night, would still be awake notwithstanding the 
lateness of the hour. 

A subject of vital importance possessed his 
thoughts. He knew at last that he loved Vivian 
Reide with a feeling and intensity that possessed 
his whole soul. It had grown upon him day by 
day until he found thoughts of her filling every 
moment of his existence, until he found himself 
seeking her presence upon every possible occasion, 
until at last he realized that without her, life would 
be a failure and a mockery. 

He had witnessed the intimacy growing up 
between Blake and Vivian with considerable 
anxiety, and at times he felt so displeased over it 
that he thought to dismiss her from his affections. 
But he found he could not do that, strive as he 
may, and so he drifted on. He had thought it all 
out in the shadow of his spreading sail. He had 
wanted to get away by himself; to read his own 
heart; to cast the horoscope of his life. Impelled 
by an intense desire for solitude he took Arthur’s 
boat, and had sought communion with his inner- 
most thoughts far from the interruption of the 
bustling life that he left behind him as he 
sailed into the west. 


THE WAND OF WAR 


221 


And so as destiny shaped the purpose of his 
thought and guided it irresistibly into the channel 
of his deep love for her, and formed the resolve 
that now fastened upon his spirit, as he thought 
fervently about it, he did not need to change the 
course of his vessel, for his hand upon the tiller 
laid the course of his boat to the west, and to her. 
He would reach there ere the dusk, he thought, 
and then he pictured the opportunity that would 
be afforded him to acquaint Dr. Reide with the 
feelings he bore his daughter, as they enjoyed 
their evening cigars on the lawn; feelings which, 
he almost knew. Dr. Reide must already realize. 
And then to tell Vivian of the message he bore her ! 
And at thought of it he could not brook the ex- 
asperating delay of his slow sailing craft. Then 
he noticed with vexation that the light breeze was 
slowly dying, and he soon found himself becalmed, 
and his impulses bounding under the restraint of 
delay. As he approached the house he saw a 
form moving across the lawn towards the house, 
and his own noiseless footsteps upon the soft 
grass brought him face to face with Vivian at the 
veranda steps. 

She started violently and gave a slight scream. 

“Jack!’’ she exclaimed, as she pressed her hands 
to her breast. 

“Vivian!” he said impetuously, dazed by her 


222 


ALICIA 


sudden appearance, — the passion of his heart 
leaping to his lips as he saw her. His love for her 
dominated every thought of his mind, and like a 
swift stream that, obstructed, leaps its banks and 
runs rampant, so the pent up tide of his passion 
leaped over every barrier of conventional resolve, 
and swept away with its impetuosity all precon- 
certed arrangement, and poured into Vivian’s 
ear the torrent of his earnest words. He reached 
his arms towards her, and she tried to escape from 
him, but he seized her, and with his arms about 
her, held her hands in his own warm grasp as he 
spoke. She trembled with bowed head, as she 
heard him. 

“Don’t Jack,” she pleaded piteously. 

“Darling — ” 

“Don’t Jack. No! No! You must not.” 

“I must speak, Vivian. My heart — ” 

She struggled to be free. 

“Let me go. Jack,” she interrupted. “Please, 
dear Jack,” she begged. She raised her face to his 
in entreaty. He kissed her on the lips. 

“I love you,” he whispered. “I — ” 

“You must not!” she exclaimed passionately. 
“It is too — ” she faltered. “I cannot love you. 
Leave me!” she said fiercely, and freeing herself, 
she ran up the steps, just as the wheels of an 
approaching carriage sounded on the driveway. 


THE WAND OF WAR 


223 


The horses halted and Dr. Reide descended from 
the carriage. 

“Why Jack, how happy I am to see you,” he 
exclaimed, reaching out his hand cordially to 
Jack. “I am sorry now that I am late in arriving 
home. I did not hurry as I knew the enjoyment 
of the drive along the lake shore in the moonlight.” 

“I arrived but a short time ago,” replied Jack. 
‘T expected to be here by dark, but the wind 
failed.” 

“Did you sail up today ?” the doctor asked. 

“Yes,” he answered. 

“I didn’t know but what you came in an auto- 
mobile, from the city,” said the physician. “I 
met one down the road a short distance running 
at high speed.” 

“An automobile!” exclaimed Jack. 

Vivian said nothing. They were standing now 
in the front hall and Jack saw her flushed face in 
the gaslight. As her father spoke she turned her 
head and disappeared behind the portiers of the 
library, and as Jack and her father took their 
cigars to the front veranda, she stole upstairs to 
her room with tumultuous heart. 

She drew a low chair to the window, and held 
the fleecy drapery aside with her hand and folded 
it against her hot cheek, as she looked out into the 
night. She saw across the smooth water of the 


224 


ALICIA 


lake the light of the moon like a road of beaten 
silver. And it seemed to her a broad highway 
stretching far across the waters to the city by the 
lake, and as her gaze rested upon it she thought 
she saw the bright lights of a swiftly moving auto- 
mobile running rapidly over the silver roadway 
towards that distant city; and when, frightened, 
she looked again, she saw nothing but the stars 
peacefully reflected from its depths. 

She did not see Jack again. He was up and 
away before the dawn. As she rose she looked 
out of her window, and saw that his boat was 
missing from the wharf and far out on the lake 
she could see the flashing sail as it sped swiftly 
away with the freshening breeze. She watched 
it till it dwindled to a speck, and vanished in the 
distance. 


* * * * 

It had come at last — war with Spain — a step in 
human progress — a compact with civilization, to 
be sealed with blood. It was the May-day in the 
year eighteen hundred and ninety-eight. Memo- 
rable day! The sun arose and looked down on a 
city of banners. How they flashed in the sun- 
light! How they danced on the breeze! How 
merrily they flung themselves to the winds ! The 


THE WAND OF WAR 


225 


Sixty-fifth Regiment of the National Guard was 
to leave for the front! The city was early astir. 
The people began to gather on the main street of 
the city at an hour when usually that chief thor- 
oughfare looks deserted and strange. Mothers 
stood patiently on the hard stone with babes in 
their arms. Children ate their breakfasts from 
their hands, and, wearied with waiting, nodded 
against mothers’ knees as they clutched the dress 
for support. At the hour when the banks usually 
open, the street was a solid mass of people; a 
dense phalanx of humanity from wall to curb — 
impenetrable. Every window teemed with hu- 
man beings; every space to which foot or hand 
could cling was occupied. The whole city was on 
hand to see its well-prized regiment leave for the 
war. The Stars and Stripes were everywhere. 
The main street was a mass of the national colors. 
Patriotism seemed, for the moment, to have run 
rife. Business, that great god, had for the time 
lost its votaries. The money tellers at the 
banks looked through their little iron gratings 
for customers that did not come. The great piles 
of money on the counters ready for distribution 
to greedy fingers were uncalled for. There was a 
wee speck of humanity in the hearts of men after 
all. God does not permit it to die out altogether. 
All men recognized that truth on that day, and it 


16 


226 


ALICIA 


made them kin, though they were to be quite 
ashamed of it, perhaps, on the morrow. 

Vivian sat with Blake in his automobile at a 
corner on the chief thoroughfare of the city. 
The faint strains of the music reached them. 
Louder, louder it grew till the full blare of the 
trumpets and the roll of the drums burst upon 
them in wild, sweet stirring strains. A thousand 
rifles gleamed in the sunlight as the regiment, with 
long, easy tread swung into view, while the deafen- 
ing shout from the curb drowned the martial 
strains of the music. It was a thrilling scene. 
The people went mad with savage joy as the regi- 
ment tramped steadily on with rhythmic step, with 
neither a look to the right nor to the left; their 
colonel at their head — beau-ideal of a soldier; tall, 
with eagle face, bold, fearless, with flashing eye; 
straight as an Indian, swarthy as a Spaniard — a 
veritable Castilian, with red bandana knotted 
round his brown throat. His heart must have 
thrilled as few men’s hearts do nowadays, as he 
marched at the head of his troops. No Roman 
general entering the imperial city fresh from 
victorious fields and loaded with the spoils of war, 
to receive the wild acclaim of the people, ever had 
a more splendid triumph. He had waited for 
this day. He knew it would come — and when it 
did, it found him ready with a thousand trained 


THE WAND OF WAR 


227 


heroes at his back, who caught their guns with 
joy at the call of the Nation. Truly, everything 
comes to him who knows how to wait. 

A sweet-faced little girl — a mere child, — bare- 
headed, ran from the curb with outstretched arms 
and upheld to him a mass of beautiful flowers. 
Most men would have taken the flowers. It would 
have been a man-like thing to do. The majority 
would have taken them as a tribute to vanity; 
some, to avoid the possibility of hurting the feel- 
ings of the little girl; some, from instinct — that 
feeling that prompts most men to grab anything 
that’s offered to them. But he was so brave a 
knight that he would not take the flowers, even at 
the risk of paining the sensitive heart of the dear 
little child. He had no time to consider the 
matter. He had to decide with the quickness of 
the lightning’s flash — and he decided rightly. 
It was a simple thing to do but it had the elements 
of greatness in it. As she reached the flowers to 
him, he shook his head — and passed on. 

As the regiment marched by it was a sight to 
make the sluggish blood leap in the veins. Vivian’s 
heart was aglow. 

“Brave fellows,” she murmured. “I wish Jack 
could witness this scene,” she said impulsively. 
“He was so interested in Cuba, you know.” 

“He will see all he’ll want of it,” said Blake with 


228 


ALICIA 


a laugh. “The Sixty-fifth is going to be in it all 
right. The regiment is highly regarded by the 
War Department at Washington, and is certain 
to get orders for Cuba. Jack probably made sure 
of that before he joined the regiment.’^ 

“Jack — joined the regiment!’' echoed Vivian 
in amazement, looking at him with staring, be- 
wildered eyes. 

“You know that Jack joined the Sixty-fifth, 
do you not asked Blake. As he looked at her 
he saw that she did not know. 

The troops had passed. The music was faint 
in the distance. She saw the flashing bayonets 
tossing like the waves of the sea, far down the 
street. A wave of tenderness and emotion swept 
over her. She eagerly sought a last sight of the 
soldiers through her tears. Her feelings swelled 
in her heart. Her soul expanded, and her better 
nature, all untouched until now, sprang to life 
beneath the magic touch of the Wand of War, 
and rose to rebuke her. She shrank back, pale 
and trembling, from her own self, before the un- 
covered presence of her love for Jack Landseer, 
that soldier who had marched by with his rifle 
on his shoulder, all unknown to her, which had 
suddenly come to her, she now knew, and pos- 
sessed her whole heart, — and alas, so late! And 
the thousand soldiers, before her very eyes, 


THE WAND OF WAR 


229 


merged into One, and as they bravely marched 
away and disappeared, she thought she would go 
mad with her grief, her longing, and her despair. 

So overcome were her senses that she scarcely 
heard the words, “Those poor devils only get 
thirteen dollars a month.” 

And the music grew fainter, and fainter; and 
then she heard it no more. 


230 


ALICIA 


CHAPTER XXI. 

DRIVEN FROM HOME. 

The shores of the lake, running towards the 
southwest from the City of the Lakes, with their 
cool breezes and picturesque charm, offer to the 
residents of the city an attraction for summer 
residences that takes from the city’s confines, 
during the heated term, many of its inhabitants. 
The Blakes and Pendletons had been accustomed, 
for a number of years past, to spend the summer 
months upon the shores of the lake, together. 

To Arthur this period of the year was particularly 
attractive. His early passion for the sea, and 
which he had always retained though denied the 
opportunity of its enjoyment, sought the satisfac- 
tion thus afforded him in these summer months 
by the waters of the lake. He often yielded to the 
subtle temptation of the natural beauty of the 
place, to spend days at a time beside the shores 
of this inland sea, that stretched away in beauty 
and majesty at his feet. Alicia was often his 
soulful companion. 

The charming environment of the scene, with 
its long miles of white, glistening sand bordering 


DRIVEN FROM HOME 


231 


the blue waters, with rising bluff and bit of wood- 
land where some few hoary trees of a century ago, 
that had escaped the woodman’s axe, arose above 
the undergrowth of a later day, offered vistas of 
delightful contemplation, and invited their 
thoughtful footsteps to many a ramble, with 
attendant opportunity for communion, among all 
the inspiring influences of nature. 

The relations of Arthur and Alicia had grown 
ideal. Their culture had removed them above 
precedent and prejudice, and their superior intel- 
ligence made them independent of the rules of 
custom. Their intellectual and sentimental na- 
tures, devoid of the traits that commonly char- 
acterize the ordinary relations of men and women, 
resulted in a sweet and lasting friendship. Their 
intercourse developed a mutually beneficial in- 
fluence of so high a degree that their natures grew 
together into a companionship that constituted a 
state of highest good and happiness. The scope 
of their expansion was confined by no creed, and 
the possibilities of their existence were not frus- 
trated by the rules of custom which society habitu- 
ally follows. 

It was a beautiful day in June that they sat 
upon the sands of the beach, quite alone. The 
waters reflected the blue of the heavens, and the 
white sail of distant boat, here and there, seemed 


232 


ALICIA 


but the reflection of the occasional snowy clouds 
that sailed slowly the blue of the ether above. 
The warm sun on the sands was grateful to the 
body, and the faint breath of the summer wind 
brought from the lake a sweetness from its cooling 
depths. Behind them, a grove with its inviting 
recesses of mossy banks, and modest flowers that 
bloomed “to please no eye but God’s,” sheltered 
a hidden bird that from some spray piped a song 
of full-throated melody, — and with its quiet 
aisles suggested the groves of the ancients where, 
in the Temple of Nature, Philosophy and Poetry 
first sounded the chords of the immortal Hymn 
of Life. 

“What a perfect day, Arthur,” said Alicia. “All 
nature seems to suggest naught to one but the 
good and beautiful.” 

“And how little are the lessons heeded,” Arthur 
answered. “I have been quite disturbed, Alicia, 
by an account I saw this morning of the action of a 
bishop in one of the eastern states who has refused 
to admit a clergyman to his diocese, to exercise the 
pastoral function in a parish to which he has been 
called, by reason of the fact that his wife is a 
woman who had secured a divorce from a former 
husband.” 

“You mean who had not secured a divorce 
from her husband,” said Alicia. 


DRIVEN FROM HOME 


233 


“No,” he replied, laughing at her innocence. 
“A woman who had secured a divorce from her 
husband.” 

“Is it not an outrage,” he continued, “that such 
things should be? These people may have the 
finest characters and be the highest types of devel- 
opment, and the clergyman may have the best 
qualifications of heart and mind for the exercise 
of the pastoral relation which the parishioners 
of this church have asked him to fill, and yet 
that counts for nothing, and he is prevented 
from accepting the duties of the place, and the 
will of the members of this parish is set at 
naught.” 

“What a burden of shame and unhappiness 
such an act must place upon this innocent man 
and woman,” said Alicia warmly. “If that is the 
rule of the church, Arthur, I should think the 
people would change it.” 

“Laws founded in religious superstition are the 
most difiicult to modify,” Arthur replied. “It is 
all a question of intelligence. The people will not 
change it, as you suggest, because they yield 
supinely to the powerful influence of custom.” 

“But public opinion will not support such an 
action ?” Alicia suggested. 

“Oh, yes it will, Alicia. Custom is public 
opinion, and public opinion is the opinion of 


234 


ALICIA 


ordinary people. The ideas of ordinary people are 
fixed.” 

“By ordinary people you mean — ” 

“Not necessarily those alone in the ordinary 
walks of life, but those in the higher walks of life, 
so called, as well. Their ideas are like a flock of 
sheep. They are all alike, and follow the same 
path.” 

“I think, Arthur, there must be quite a portion of 
society that will not coincide with public opinion 
upon such a question,” said Alicia. 

“Those whose mental natures are expansive, 
subject to growth, to continual development, to 
progress, with a clear and sane love for truth, 
heeding no opinion save the approval of their true 
natures, and that of God, will not, of course,” he 
answered. 

“If the rules of society are so inflexible, all 
forms of conduct, all questions in life, are then 
solved by a standard that must necessarily be 
unjust as it must be heedless of circumstances, 
and you know that ‘circumstances alter cases,* ” 
she said with a smile. 

“Yes,” he continued, “and therefore it fre- 
quently happens that it is actually a narrow provin- 
cialism that decides questions of character, reputa- 
tion, and often life itself, with a ridiculous self- 
satisfaction and a pharasaical prudery.” 


DRIVEN FROM HOME 


235 


“And do you think that society invariably takes 
its cue from custom, which you say is local 
opinion ?” 

“Very often, and such opinion is prone to dis- 
regard principles of basic truths that underlie a 
spiritual and philosophical interpretation of the 
universe, and the laws of God. The law is hope- 
lessly archaic upon this question of marriage and 
divorce.” 

“It is a grave question, and a difficult one, too,” 
said Alicia seriously. 

“There are many good and wise people who 
believe that the subject should be broadened — 
not narrowed, and that incompatibility should be 
one of the chief causes of dissolution of the mar- 
riage tie ; that society knows this, but is too timid 
to voice its understanding in law, and give its 
sanction, and thus it fails in its duty in not con- 
serving the happiness of its members, and at the 
same time advance its own moral status,” Arthur 
replied. 

“I recollect a homely illustration that was 
advanced illustrative of this point. Suppose there 
should be a law that would compel one to forever 
keep a home he had purchased, and next to 
which, after he had secured it, there should be 
erected a boiler shop or a soap factory; — not only 
compel one to keep it, but live in it, and bring up 


236 


ALICIA 


his children there as well, notwithstanding the din 
and the fumes that would make life unbearable, 
unlivable,” he continued. 

“That would be ridiculous,” said Alicia laughing. 

“Not more so than the present divorce law, 
they claim,” replied Arthur, “and that its ridicu- 
lousness would be apparent were it not for the 
hold of archaic custom. The limited separation 
that the law offers is in many respects an injustice 
and hardship; the absolute separation promotes 
many evils. 

“Society declares itself against the dissolution 
of the marriage tie,” he continued, “notwith- 
standing its true object — companionship — has 
been hopelessly unattained. With this situation 
society rests content, with its hands piously folded 
in sweet resignation while its members wear their 
hearts away in trying to wear its chains. It is 
frightened by the admonition of the church, 
‘What God hath joined together let no man put 
asunder.’ ” 

“But would not a broadening aspect of life,” 
Alicia asked earnestly, “that would encourage 
companionship, in its purest and highest rela- 
tions, wherever found, simplify the question, and 
really promote the strength and morality of the 
marriage association — ^both as a practical and 
ethical question ?” 


DEIVEN FROM HOME 


237 


“It is claimed that it would,” said Arthur, “but 
society continues blind to this situation. A rare 
and superior mind seeking companionship in 
spite of mistake which cannot be remedied ac- 
cording to the laws of society, is placed under its 
ban and marked with the bar sinister, for when one 
takes such a step out of the ordinary, society 
sagely disapproves, for the majority can always 
outvote the minority, quite ignoring the fact that 
‘Beelzebub marshals majorities and majorities 
ever lie.’ ” 

“Will this be remedied some day ?” she asked. 

“It is thought so; that it is part of the upward 
movement of humanity towards a higher and 
saner plane of life. It was but a few years ago 
that the mob in Boston — the Hub of the Universe 
— dragged William Lloyd Garrison through the 
streets of the city with a rope around his neck.” 

“Every Christ has been crucified,” she said 
thoughtfully. 

“And later, glorified,” Arthur replied. “His- 
tory repeats itself, and so the philosophers dream, 
that in the future society will express in law what 
you and I have learned, Alicia, that the promises 
of nature are true — that every yearning of the 
spirit’s seeking vouchsafes its perfect gratifica- 
tion.” 

“Then the future must hold forth the promise 


238 


ALICIA 


that some time, some where, it shall be accom- 
plished if such realization is not attained in this 
existence,” said Alicia gravely. 

“Their philosophy embraces the present and 
the future. That every man and woman has a 
soul in some one’s keeping that is the complement 
of his or her own, if he or she can but find it, and 
that without such result life’s purpose is unful- 
filled and its complete and holy happiness un- 
attained,” he answered, earnestly. 

“That is the philosophy of Shelley, is it not?” 
she inquired. 

“Yes, he is a leading exponent of the philos- 
ophy,” Arthur replied, “which declares that God 
never intended two beings who had found their 
twin souls to sacrifice the happiness and develop- 
ment of life for an artificial respectability.” 

“The thought is beautiful and poetic viewed 
purely as a philosophy or theory,” said Alicia. 
“Why must the practical and the ideal be so 
widely separated?” 

“It need be, only so long as society measures 
conduct by a morbid sex-consciousness, super- 
stition, and greed,” replied Arthur earnestly, 
“and places a false and shallow sense of duty 
above a life’s true development and happiness. 
As it is now constituted, society, in this respect, 
offers no compensation to span the gulf of the 


DRIVEN FROM HOME 


239 


soul’s empty existence. Do you remember the 
poet’s lines, Alicia?” he said thoughtfully, 

The divine 
Insanity of noble minds, 

That never falters, or abates. 

But labors, and endures, and waits. 

Till all that it foresees it finds, 

Or what it cannot find, creates. 

She was silent. And their natures turned fully 
to each other, and found the perfect union in that 
attachment which is a mystery of the soul in its 
loftiest cravings and aspirations, growing out of a 
supernatural fervor which creates a sacred ecstacy 
that enjoys what alone is spiritual and divine. 

Alicia, true to the convictions of her soul, 
became Arthur’s fearless companion, and cherish- 
ing all that is good, beautiful, and innocent in life, 
she rose to the moral and intellectual level of his 
being 

“With all the madness of a skylark, 
springing from earth to heaven.” 

And so day followed day, and season followed 
season, until a year and another of the new century 
had slipped away. Winter had come and had 
brought suggestions of the Christmas tide; and 
one afternoon at dusk, a short time before the 
Christmas day, Alicia, returning home, met her 
husband awaiting her coming. 


240 


ALICIA 


He addressed her. 

“Alicia, I know where you have been. I know 
what you have done. You must leave my house 
immediately.’’ 

“Leave my loved ones? I cannot. No! No! 
I cannot, Edmund. Do not send me away from 
them.” 

“Yes, you shall go immediately.” 

The maid entered. 

“Madam, a gentleman desires to see you. He 
would not give his name.” 

Alicia turned towards the hallway. A man stood 
there. He was a stranger. Blake followed Alicia, 
and stood at the doorway partially concealed by the 
rich, heavy draperies. Alicia bowed to the man. 

“Good afternoon, madam,” he said. “Are you 
Mrs. Alicia Blake ?” 

“Yes,” she said. 

“And the wife of Edmund Blake ?” 

“Yes,” she said again. 

“I desire to serve you with a summons and 
complaint in an action for divorce brought by 
your husband, Edmund Blake.” 

Alicia listened, bewildered. 

“An action for divorce ?” she repeated slowly. 

“Yes, madam. These papers I hand you are 
the summons and complaint in the action. Take 
them, madam.” 


DRIVEN FROM HOME 


241 


She reached out her hand and received the 
papers. 

“Good afternoon, madam.” 

“Good afternoon, sir,” Alicia replied, and the 
man opened the front door and departed. 

Alicia stood in a daze and slowly read the papers. 
In her bewilderment she scarce understood their 
cruel contents at first, but gradually as she col- 
lected her senses the matters set out in legal 
phraseology began to convey to her mind their 
terrible import. The cruel false charges of in- 
fidelity, and the heartless demand for the custody 
of the children pierced her heart with the stroke 
of death. 

“No! No! No !” she cried wildly. 

“Edmund! Edmund! What have you done ? 
You must not. Believe me, I am innocent. 
How can you ? How dare you My God, how 
can I live after such a cruel blow ! I am innocent 
— innocent, I tell you ! Edmund, speak, speak to 
me ! Tell me that this is all a cruel hoax ! I be- 
seech you to retract your charges, your demands. 
You know in your heart that I have not wronged 
you. Take it back for the sake of truth, for your 
own honor, Edmund; for the sake of the children 
above all else, take it back, take it back! See, I 
beseech you on my knees ; take it back, my God, 
take it back!” 


242 


ALICIA 


She fell upon her knees in her anguish, and 
reached out her hands to him clasped in desper- 
ation. He moved coldly away from her. 

“Your every act is known to me,’* he said 
harshly. 

“Then you can know no evil of me. I confess 
I have met Arthur often, but our purpose has 
always been innocent. He has always — ” 

“Innocent ? ” Blake broke in with a savage 
sneer. 

“He has always respected me — and himself. 
Believe me, Edmund, — ” 

“Respect ?” he exclaimed contemptuously. 
“What respect has he shown you, or me, or him- 
self? He has betrayed my confidence. He has 
sought and pursued you with every wile known 
to—” 

“Stop, I command you, Edmund! The blood 
mounts to my cheek in shame at your charges. 
You know you speak falsely. Arthur has — ” 

“He has spent money on you like a prince. 
He seems to have the wealth of Croesus. You 
have accepted his attentions, craved his favors — ” 
“Edmund, I love Arthur. You know that. 
I have not concealed it from you ; and he loves me. 
You and I have drifted apart. You did not know 
your heart — I did not know mine. You have had 
no love for me for years. Your heart is elsewhere. 


DRIVEN FROM HOME 


243 


You know that, Edmund. Our mutual love for 
the children has been our only thing in common. 
You have grown to dislike me; to hate me. You 
wish to be rid of me — and you have taken this 
cruel way to accomplish your purpose, although 
you know you have no grounds for such 
action.” 

“I have grounds. I have sworn to that fact.” 

“You have deceived yourself then, if you have 
acted honestly. You have watched the friend- 
ship grow up between Arthur and me, unrebuked. 
You have thrown us together as though you 
planned it all. You have watched our love grow 
up before your very eyes. I fought against it, and 
fought against it with all the strength of my soul. 
I have suffered such bitter anguish — such cruel 
pain. Day and night I have struggled with my 
fate, but Edmund, I could not help it, strive as I 
may — I loved him — I loved him. I cannot con- 
ceal that; I could not if I tried. I do not care to. 
But Edmund, you have accused us wrongly, 
cruelly, falsely. I have been faithful — ” 

“I will hear no more !” 

“You have been mistaken, Edmund. I can 
explain — ” 

“I will hear no more. You must go at once.” 

“Edmund!” she cried. “I ask nothing for 
myself. It is for my children. You know my 


244 


ALICIA 


love and devotion to them. You cannot deny 
that.” 

“Yes,” he replied. “I admit all that. I know 
you have a devoted love for them. I will not 
deny it.” 

“For them — Edmund!” she cried, reaching out 
her arms to him. 

He repulsed her, and she sank to the floor. 

“For my children’s sake!” she entreated, as she 
piteously held her arms to him in supplication. 

“For my children !” 

“Go!” he said. 

Slowly she rose, and with trembling step she 
went out into the night. 


LUTHIERS APPEAL 


245 


CHAPTER XXII. 
luthie’s appeal. 

The action taken by Edmund Blake distressed 
Luthie Pendleton beyond measure. Its injustice 
and cruelty affected her kind heart and honest 
nature, so that not only were her feelings greatly 
wrought up over the situation, but she felt im- 
pelled to exert every effort of which she was 
capable to avert the evil consequences that now 
seemed imminent. Blake had steadily refused to 
see Arthur about the matter, or hold any com- 
munication with him whatever. The relations 
between the two men had become strained to a 
tense degree. Blake’s headstrong determination 
to obtain a desired result at any cost led to a situa- 
tion that assumed a serious aspect. Arthur’s gentle 
and chivalric nature rose to the fierce demands of 
his ardent love for truth and devotion to principles 
of honor, that now permitted no other course than 
a defence of the honor of Alicia and his own. 

Arthur and Luthie conferred earnestly about the 
situation, and Luthie felt that she might accom- 
plish a result which it was easy to perceive could 
not be obtained by her husband. Alicia had de- 


246 


ALICIA 


parted from the city. Luthie’s heart ached for 
her. She determined to call upon Blake, feeling 
that he would not refuse her an audience, and 
hoping, with much reason, that his respect and 
regard for her might have a very important in- 
fluence upon his course. She decided to call at 
his home, and on a dismal, sleety evening in the 
last days of February she left home for this pur- 
pose. Arthur accompanied her as far as the auto- 
mobile station, where he stopped to see about some 
repairs that were in progress upon his automobile. 
He spent some time in looking over the machine, 
and as he left, he picked up his automobile wrench 
and put it in his pocket. He had a thought in 
mind, as he did so, that he would overhaul his 
bicycle and might need the implement. He 
walked slowly down to the Blake home. A light 
burned dimly in the front hall. He saw a woman 
in front of the house, and as he approached her 
he saw it was Luthie. She was pale and trembling. 

“Oh, Arthur,” she said, as she eagerly turned 
to him, “my heart has failed me. I feel so excited, 
and I have a strange presentiment of evil. I am 
afraid to go into the house.” 

“This is too much of a task for you, Luthie. 
Come, we will return home. I feel condemned that 
I consented to your attempting it. Come, dear,” 
and taking her arm he thought to lead her away. 


LUTHIERS APPEAL 


247 


“No, Arthur, please. My heart is set upon 
making this last appeal for Alicia. I feel stronger 
now that you are with me. Let me make the 
attempt; I should ever reproach myself if I aban- 
doned it now.” 

“Very well, Luthie, I will go with you then,” and 
they turned towards the house and ascended the 
steps. They rang the bell, and the door was opened 
by Mr. Blake himself. He invited them to enter 
and showed them to his den, opening off from the 
front hall. At their host’s invitation they re- 
moved their coats, and in doing so the wrench 
fell from Arthur’s overcoat pocket to the floor. 
He picked it up and said in explanation, “I have 
just been to the automobile station.” 

“Rather heavy for your pocket,” said Blake, as 
he glanced at the wrench. 

“Yes, it is,” Arthur assented. “I feel as though 
I were carrying a concealed weapon.” 

He laid the wrench on one corner of the table 
in the den. 

Their conversation was general in its nature for 
some few minutes. Blake seemed ill at ease, and 
cast furtive looks at his open gold watch which 
lay upon the table. At last Luthie approached 
the topic which was the object of her visit. 

“I cannot discuss that,” he said. 

“Will you refuse to hear the truth ?” she asked 


248 


ALICIA 


with kindling eye. “I know all that you know, 
and more. I know that Arthur and Alicia are 
innocent of the charges you so hastily make 
against them. Oh, Edmund, I am sure you do 
not appreciate the consequences. You must 
know Arthur and Alicia so well as to believe, 
down in your heart, that it would be impossible — ” 

“You must excuse me,” said Blake firmly. “I 
cannot discuss that question with Arthur. I have 
said I would not do so.” 

“But I ask you to do so with me — not with 
him.” 

“It amounts to the same thing while he is 
present with you, for that purpose.” 

“Very well,” she said haughtily. “I have 
reason to feel that you owe me more courtesy than 
that,” and rising she left the room followed by 
Arthur, and opening the front door left the house. 

They proceeded slowly to their home, Arthur 
striving to soothe her excited feelings, and as he 
arrived there he remembered that he had left his 
wrench at the Blake home. He was moved by a 
feeling to go back after it, and after remaining 
with Luthie until she had recovered her usual calm, 
apparently, he left the house once more and pro- 
ceeded to the Blake home. He ascended the 
steps and was about to press the bell at the front 
door, when he saw through the large plate glass in 


LUTHIERS APPEAL 


249 


the front door, Blake come from the den. Arthur 
thought he was coming to the door to let him in, 
and so he did not ring the bell, but stood there 
waiting. But to his surprise he saw Blake turn to 
the mantel which was at one side of the hall. 
Blake’s movements then struck Arthur as peculiar. 
He moved with light tread. He was not fully 
dressed, as his coat and vest had been laid aside. 
Arthur saw him go to the mantel; and on the 
mantel Arthur saw the chief ornament — that he 
knew well. It was the handsome French clock 
which he had presented to Alicia. 

It was enclosed in bevelled plate glass, and at 
each hour it struck the time with clear melodious 
tones with its sweet cathedral chime. He saw 
Blake place his left hand on top of the glass case 
of the clock to steady it, while with his right hand 
he opened the glass door in front, and swung it 
back on its tiny golden hinges, and exposed the 
face of the clock, with its hands. He took hold 
of the minute hand and slightly bent it forward. 
He then closed the door of the clock, and disap- 
peared in the den. Arthur looked on in amaze- 
ment. He was confused somewhat by the situa- 
tion, and hesitated about ringing the bell, and pon- 
dering over the matter, he retreated down the 
steps, and crossed the street, where he stood in the 
shadow of a tree. 


250 


ALICIA 


CHAPTER XXIII. 
luthie’s midnight visit. 

Luthie sought her chamber upon Arthur’s 
departure for the Blake home again, her anxious 
spirit craving the quiet and rest of her room after 
the trying experience of the evening. She tried 
to abandon herself to full relaxation from the 
tense strain under which she had been laboring, 
but found herself quite unable to dismiss the 
matter from her mind. She failed to attain the 
composure she sought, and her reflection upon the 
subject only increased her anxiety. As she re- 
viewed the matter, there now came to her mind 
a doubt concerning her course that worried her 
considerably. She wondered if she had acted 
wisely, after all. She felt half inclined to rebuke 
herself at the failure of her mission. Had she not 
been hasty, she asked herself? And as that 
thought came home to her, her conscience seemed 
to smite her with scorpion stings. Why had she 
not consented that Arthur leave her, and she 
confer with Blake alone? If she had only done 
that he might have yielded to the plea that moved 
her heart. And as she reproached herself, her 


LUTHIERS MIDNIGHT VISIT 


251 


feelings upon the subject intensified until she felt 
that she could not rest until she had seen Mr. Blake, 
or at least had made one more attempt to do so. 
She knew the habits of the Blake household. 
It was not unusual for Mr. Blake to sit alone read- 
ing, or engaged in some manner of business, to 
past the midnight hour. Perhaps she could still 
see him tonight. Arthur had not yet returned; 
she would leave a note for him telling him where 
she had gone. And then she thought that Arthur 
would be displeased if he knew that she had again 
undertaken the task, and so she decided she would 
not tell him. She closed her door, trusting that 
Arthur would think that she had retired when he 
came in. She hastily donned her hat and long 
fur coat, and softly descended the stairway, and 
went out into the street. 

A drizzling snow was driving down through the 
cold midnight air, and making the walks and 
streets wet and slippery. She hurried on in 
feverish haste. The city was asleep. The houses 
were dark, and the streets deserted. No one is 
abroad on such a night as this, she thought. As 
she hurried on she noticed a policeman standing 
at the corner, above the Blake home, as she 
turned into that thoroughfare. 

Reaching the Blake home she ascended the 
steps and thought she would tap upon the glass 


252 


ALICIA 


of the front door and if Mr. Blake were there she 
could attract his attention. She stepped inside 
the vestibule, and she was surprised to see that 
the front door was slightly open. She hesitated 
a moment, and then pushing the door further 
open, entered the house, and softly walked across 
the hall to the den door. She knocked gently. 
She received no reply, and then she knocked 
again. All was still. She never knew why she 
did it, but the impulse seized her to open the den 
door. She turned the knob and opened the door. 
All was darkness. She stepped inside, and par- 
tially closed the door after her. She thought of 
Arthur’s wrench, and was impelled to know if he 
had called and gotten it. If not, she might take 
it with her while she was there. She remembered 
where he had placed it — on the corner of the 
table — and she could easily get it even in the 
darkness, as she knew the room so well. 

As she stood there her thoughts went rapidly 
to the last time, before that day, she had been in 
the den. It was the night, or rather the early 
morning, that they had all returned from a ball. 
She remembered how all their little party — there 
were ten of them altogether — ladies and gentle- 
men — partook of refreshments in the den, with 
so little room that the ladies had to carry the 
trains of their ball gowns on their arms, or hold 


LUTHIE’S MIDNIGHT VISIT 


253 


them in their laps. She had held hers in her lap, 
she remembered, for she had sat on the couch that 
was placed along one whole side of the den. She 
remembered that she sat at the head of the couch, 
for she recalled how she drank from her glass and 
passed it along for others to drink from — someone 
had told her to do so — while she, in turn, took the 
next glass passed to her. And she remembered 
how she laughed, and how merry they all were. 
And she remembered how Vivian laughed, too — 
and quite uproariously, she thought. How pretty 
Vivian looked that night. Her eyes sparkled, and 
her cheek glowed like a rose; and she was so 
vivacious, so gladsome! How her merry laugh 
rang out as her pearly teeth flashed through her 
parted red lips ! 

And as she stood there in the darkness Luthie 
felt for the wrench on the corner of the table. 
It was not there. Perhaps it had been laid else- 
where, she thought. She knew that the gas 
lighted instantaneously, by simply pulling a chain 
that hung pendant from the wrought-iron chande- 
lier overhead. It was easily within reach of her 
hand. The thought came to her to light the gas 
for an instant. 

God help her! She raised her hand, — and 
pulled the chain. 


254 


ALICIA 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE TRAGEDY OF THE DEN. 

Edmund Blake lay upon the couch with head 
crushed and bleeding, murdered! Luthie stood 
transfixed with horror. Her blood froze in her 
veins. Her senses weakened; and she felt she 
must faint, — must die, perhaps. A wild scream 
rose to her lips, but she stifled it just in time. 
The fear that she would die, and her dead body be 
found there filled her with desperate strength. 
Her soul shrank from that contemplation with 
more terror than it did from the fearful sight that 
assailed her senses. Her eyes turned from the 
ghastly spectacle on the couch that had riveted 
her gaze, and she saw the remains of a luncheon 
spread on the table. She saw a bottle of liquor 
there. If she only had strength to reach the 
bottle, she thought, it might help her gain the 
street before she should fall. With superhuman 
effort she staggered to the table and seized the 
bottle and raised it to her lips. She drank 
deeply. She felt the strength of the fiery liquid. 
She drank again, and slowly her gaze took in the 
condition of the room. 


THE TRAGEDY OF THE DEN 


255 


She looked about the table for the wrench, but 
it was not there. She noticed the luncheon 
particularly, as she moved the things on the table 
in her search. There were a plate of crackers, a 
portion of cheese, a tart, and the bottle of cock- 
tails. 

The wrench was not on the table. She felt a 
feverish anxiety about it. She must get it, if it 
was still in the room. This was the thought 
uppermost in her mind. Perhaps it was on the 
couch. She dare not look there. She saw a silk 
quilt on the floor at the foot of the couch; and, 
with averted head, she seized it and threw it over 
the bloody sight on the couch. Not satisfied, and 
with a sudden madness born of fear and terror, 
she wrapped it round and round the body, and 
then she took the Turkish rugs from the floor, and 
placed them there too; — ^then she piled the sofa 
cushions on top of all. 

She drank again from the bottle. Then she 
resumed her search for the wrench. It was on 
the couch — covered with blood. She took the 
horrible thing in her hand, and seeing a towel on 
the floor, she wiped the handle to make a clean 
place for her hand. It was a heavy wrench, with 
a long handle, — a terrible weapon. She felt a 
fearful weakness overcoming her. She did not 
dare to stay longer. She took the wrench, and 


256 


ALICIA 


then seized the bottle of cocktails. She pulled 
the chain at the chandelier, and the room was in 
darkness. She closed the den door softly after 
her. She stole through the hall, and reached up 
her hand and turned out the dim light at the 
chandelier as she passed under it, and went out of 
the house, leaving the front door slightly open, 
as she had found it. 

She staggered up the street towards her home. 
She was wondering what she would best do with 
the wrench. Then she noticed that she was in 
front of a vacant lot. It was grown up with 
weeds and brambles, and filled in places with 
rubbish. She walked onto it quite a number of 
steps with the thought to throw the wrench among 
the dead weeds and grass. But as she raised her 
arm for that purpose, she hesitated, and deliber- 
ating, she feared to do so, and changed her mind. 
As she stood there she felt conscious of her weak- 
ness, and placed the bottle again to her lips, and 
then concealing it and the wrench beneath her 
cloak, she retraced her steps to the sidewalk 
again, and kept on up the street. 

Suddenly she saw a policeman at the corner. 
She had forgotten him. Her heart stood still 
with fear. She almost yielded to the impulse to 
turn around, and retrace her steps. Yet she was 
afraid to do so. He had probably seen her, and 


THE TRAGEDY OF THE DEN 


257 


his suspicions might be aroused. Yet she knew 
she could never summon strength to pass him 
without detection. He would observe her weak 
and tottering step, her frenzied manner, and 
stop her. She realized this. She knew not what 
to do. She knew she must not hesitate and she 
kept on, and as she approached the policeman, 
in desperation she sheered off to the left, and 
crossing the street diagonally, reached the side- 
walk on the other side, with a prayer for strength 
on her lips. She thought she would fall at every 
step, but God sustained her, and she kept bravely 
on. Finally, exhausted, she reached her home 
and crept up the stairs with her remaining strength 
and when safely in her room, she fell across her 
bed, unconscious. 

The morning came and found her ghastly pale 
and weak. Arthur had left a note for her, telling 
her that he had gone to the Falls, and asking her 
to spend the day with him there. He had left 
early in the morning, the maid said. Luthie 
would ordinarily have thought nothing of it. 
Arthur frequently went to the Falls on the impulse 
of the moment. The sight and roar of the falling 
waters brought to him a satisfaction, at times, that 
nothing else could supply. He frequently dined 
there within sound of the cataract, and she was 
frequently his companion. She longed to see 


17 


258 


ALICIA 


him, to be with him. She rested as quietly as she 
could until noon, and then took a car for the Falls. 
She bought papers, and read with fascination 
and dread, of the terrible murder of Edmund 
Blake. Her senses swam as she read the details 
of the discovery. In her distress she turned to 
another column of the paper to force from her 
mind, if possible, some of the horror of the crime 
that was stifling her. 

A frightful storm along the South Atlantic 
coast she saw announced in big headlines. She 
commenced to read, though the words hardly 
made any impression on her mind. She strove 
to concentrate her mind on the article, and it told 
her of the ruin and havoc that had been done on 
land and sea. Suddenly a familiar name caught 
her eye, and she read with intense interest now; 
ay, with a wild eagerness as her eye flew over the 
column of type — so full of meaning to her. A 
meaning that was just beginning to force itself 
upon her startled senses, — that were already upon 
the verge of prostration and despair, — and to 
crush out the remnant of her life. 

“Captain James Arthur,” she read, “of the new 
steel steamer United States has just made port at 
Rio Janeiro and reports that the storm was the 
most frightful that ever swept the South Atlantic 
coast. The loss of life and damage to shipping 


259 


the tragedy of the den 

is far greater than at first reported. The full- 
rigged ship that was lost and reported as being an 
English vessel, has turned out to be English in 
name only as she was the Lady Luthie from 
Boston, Massachusetts, an American ship well 
known in New England maritime circles. She 
was commanded by Captain Ralph Alderney, 
who was well and favorably known throughout 
the length of the New England coast, and who 
stood very high in the foreign trade. The loss 
of Captain Alderney with his vessel and entire 
crew is considered by marine men as the most 
fearful catastrophe that has befallen the American 
merchant marine in years.” 

She leaned back in her seat with closed eyes, as 
the car sped on, with the paper still in her nerve- 
less fingers. And so Arthur found her. She 
feebly reached the paper to him. The flaring 
headlines of the murder of Edmund Blake flashed 
their fearful intelligence to him. He looked at 
Luthie, and was stunned at her appearance. 
She could scarcely stand she was so weak, and her 
face was as white as death, with great black lines 
encircling her fixed, hollow eyes. Her voice was 
weak and tremulous. 

“My God, Luthie,” Arthur exclaimed, “how 
this terrible thing has affected you !” 

“It is killing me,” she whispered. 


260 


ALICIA 


He placed his arm about her and they sought 
retirement at the hotel. She was weak, very 
weak. He supported her, as in the seclusion of 
their apartment she tried to speak again. 

“I — I — got your wrench last night — I went back 
there after midnight,” she gasped. 

She thought she ought to tell him. She saw him 
blanch and falter. His brain swam. Her head 
was upon his breast; her arms about him.” 

“Oh, Arthur,” she gasped again, shuddering, 
“the crime had been committed with — with — your 
— wrench !” 


THE MYSTERY OF THE NIGHT 


261 


CHAPTER XXV. 

THE MYSTERY OF THE NIGHT. 

When Arthur crossed the street and stood in the 
shadow of the tree opposite the Blake home, he 
deliberated over the matter and slowly reached 
the conclusion that he would abandon his purpose 
of seeking admittance to the house again on that 
night. Suddenly he heard the sound of horses’ 
hoofs stopping at the corner of the street below; 
and as he stood there, soon he caught a glimpse 
of a figure coming up the sidewalk, on the opposite 
side of the street, and disappearing at the side of 
the house in the darkness that shrouded the 
building. 

Arthur then turned and walked slowly down 
the street for a block, and then walked another 
square, and so continued until he had covered 
quite a distance towards the heart of the city. 
He retraced his steps, and after a time he found 
himself behind the tree again, opposite the Blake 
home. He stood there some time in thought, 
when his attention was called to a distant sound 
of a cab at the corner above. He heard it halt 
there as though to permit a passenger to alight, 
and soon there came to view another figure 


262 


ALICIA 


walking down on the other side of the street. As 
he looked at the man, Arthur saw, to his astonish- 
ment, that he suddenly disappeared along side of 
the Blake home. Arthur looked at his watch, 
and saw that the hour was late. He walked up 
the street, and as the sleet was beginning to fall 
quite heavily now, he turned to walk to the car 
line, to take a car for home. 

None being in sight, he walked on, pondering 
over the subject of the clock, trying to reason out 
the situation in regard to it, and dwelling intently 
on the events of the evening. It all seemed 
peculiar to him. What did it all mean? And 
suddenly, as he thought of the clock, it occurred 
to him, that the bending forward of the minute- 
hand sufficiently would allow it, in its revolutions 
about the face of the clock, to pass the little pin 
upon which it struck when the clock sounded the 
hour. By passing the pin, when the hand 
reached the hour each time, the clock would not 
strike. But why should the hourly chime be 
stifled, he asked himself? Was it because the 
hourly striking of the time would disturb anyone 
in the house ? Or was it because, with the clock 
silent as each hour passed, one would have no 
idea of the passing of the time; that one, resting, 
but not asleep, perhaps, not hearing the clock 
strike, and being in darkness, would have no idea 


THE MYSTERY OF THE NIGHT 


263 


of the time, — could not tell whether it was eleven 
o’clock, or midnight, or one o’clock or two? 
And as he thought about it, he walked slowly 
homeward, heedless of the falling sleet. And he 
thought of the figure he had first seen. 

And as he thought about the events of the even- 
ing, the other figure he had seen also came 
to him frequently. Where had he seen him 
before? The thought suggested Jack, but even 
as he thought of Jack he knew it was not he, and 
he wondered why he had come to his mind. 
Was it because Jack lay in the hospital with the 
fever? It was only that very morning that he 
had received a despatch announcing Jack’s illness. 
Perhaps that was why thought of his old chum had 
come to him at this midnight hour; perhaps 
because his sympathies and affections for him in 
his illness had moved him so deeply. And then, 
unaccountably, his thoughts turned to years ago. 
He thought of the Albatross, He remembered the 
story, so well known to him, of how Luthie as a little 
girl had watched the Albatross sail into port, while 
he lay in his mother’s arms, a tiny bit of humanity 
and whose infant eyes were first rocked to slumber 
in the cradle of the Albatross upon the heaving 
billows of the sea. What a strange thing that was, 
that birth at sea ! How often had he thought that 
his life was influenced by some mystery of that 


264 


ALICIA 


event! He had never lost that feeling; and to- 
night it came to him with strange persistency. 

He felt ill at ease. There was a dull pain in his 
heart. His spirits were heavy, and he felt an 
eagerness to get away from the present. Oh, for 
the taste of childhood’s peace again! How he 
longed to feel the rolling deck of the Albatross 
beneath his feet once more, and the freshening 
breeze of the sea on his cheek. But the Albatross 
had been shattered and wrecked for many a year. 
There was nothing left but memories of her now; 
nothing save the marine glass in its black 
leathern case with her name. Albatross, painted 
in small white letters on it, that lay*on the book- 
case in his library. 

What a tangled skein his life had been, he 
thought! This glass had been given to Captain 
Gray at the lighthouse by his father, and it was 
the same one that he had taken from the wall and 
handed to Luthie that day she discovered Ralph’s 
ship in the offing. He remembered even now 
how her cheek had flushed as she told that the 
vessel was the Lady Luthie. He had almost for- 
gotten the incident, but now it came to him with a 
vividness as though it were happening before his 
eyes. He had never spoken to Luthie of Ralph. 
She had never mentioned his name. He knew 
that Ralph’s ship never touched at the old home 


THE MYSTERY OF THE NIGHT 


265 


port now; that she had not done so for years. He 
heard it from old neighbors there in the village that 
Ralph’s ship sailed in the foreign trade, on long and 
distant voyages, and that she hailed from Boston 
now, though she was absent sometimes for years. 

As he reached home he went to Luthie’s room. 
The door was closed, and he knocked softly, but 
received no response. She is sleeping, he thought, 
and he withdrew to his own room, gently, so as not 
to disturb her. He thought tenderly of her, and 
rebuked himself for allowing her to undertake the 
task she had. It was too much for her, he 
thought; and he grieved that he had permitted it, 
and that she suffered so over it — and felt thankful 
that she was resting now in slumber. 

And he prepared himself for his own rest, and 
when he laid his head upon his pillow he did not 
know that he was taking his last peaceful sleep 
upon earth ; that the morrow would dawn for him 
to banish forever sleep from his eyelids; that his 
remaining hours were to be those of such stress 
and storm that no rest should come to him again, 
no surcease of agony; — no calm, drooping eyelid 
should mark the sleeping spirit, — until he should 
go down to the depths of death to drain a draught 
from Fate’s bitter goblet of despair such as mortal 
never drank before, to calm his spirit with the 
repose of eternal silence and rest. 


266 


ALICIA 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

THE PKOPHECY RECALLED. 

When Arthur heard the words fall from Luthie’s 
lips and learned of the terrible crime, and the part 
his wrench had taken in the tragedy of death, he 
was stunned by the fearful intelligence. His 
first thought was for her. His throbbing heart 
almost choked his utterance. 

‘T am innocent, Luthie!” he exclaimed in 
agonized tones. ‘*Oh, Luthie, you know I am 
innocent !” 

“Yes, dear Arthur,” she said faintly. 

Then summoning her strength, she exclaimed 
in tones of heartfelt earnestness, “I know your 
innocence as I know there is a God in Heaven. 
My conviction of your innocence is full, positive, 
and absolute. How could I believe else of you ? 
You have my full faith. You have had it always. 
You know that. You have it now, and forever.” 

He could not speak, but she felt his tears fall on 
her own cheek, and she knew that he was asking 
that every blessing and peace be hers ; that he was 
trying to assuage her pain, and that he was suffer- 
ing because of her anguish. 


THE PROPHECY RECALLED 


267 


Soon he gained control of himself, and he 
calmed and soothed her. He bathed her face 
and hands in cool water. He made her drink 
stimulants, and swallowed copious draughts him- 
self. They reached home at midnight. 

By noon of that day the whole town had rung 
with the cry of murder. The wires had greedily 
flashed it to the uttermost parts of the earth. 
Men looked into each others faces with horror. 
Women turned faint and sick. And as the de- 
tails of the fiendish crime — the work of a mad- 
man — grew one upon the other, the world read 
with terror and sickening wonder. 

Arthur was dumbfounded at the situation. He 
noted every detail in the den, and examined every 
circumstance, as he mentally canvassed the situa- 
tion, and giving to every detail and circumstance 
its natural force and effect — not reversing the 
process — he drew the natural results therefrom 
which led to the only logical conclusion one could 
arrive at, under the circumstances; or was pos- 
sible at all, he thought, — which result now seemed 
so well-known to him. 

Arthur watched the progress of events with 
feverish anxiety, and saw Mrs. Hale surrounded 
by suspicions, most unfounded, but alarming. 

She had been mistress of the Blake home since 
the departure of Alicia, and was, of course, in the 


268 


ALICIA 


house the night of the murder. She had slept 
quietly through it all, unconscious of the terrible 
tragedy being enacted on the floor below. The 
heavy door and thick walls, with Turkish draperies 
of many folds of heavy cloth, covering the sides 
and ceiling of the room, made the den wholly 
sound-proof. No sound of the crime could pos- 
sibly penetrate the ear of one in the chambers 
above, whether sleeping or awake. Opportunity 
was the only link in the chain of evidence that 
circumstance, with a fierce intensity, was at- 
tempting to wind about her. 

Arthur appreciated, too, the delicacy of his own 
position. He bore the situation with fortitude, 
but his nerves were almost shattered with it all. 
His solicitude for the suffering of Alicia, who was 
now at home again, on account of her anxiety for 
her mother was fearful. He could not com- 
municate with her directly. He did not dare do 
that. He knew that the detectives were watching 
every move. He lived in a fearful state of agony 
and distress every moment, night and day. The 
situation grew worse and worse. 

At last a resolute calm came to him. He felt 
at peace now. He must see Alicia once more, 
at any cost, he thought. He took his automobile 
and slowly rode down the avenue towards her 
home. How he longed to go to her in her distress ! 


THE PROPHECY RECALLED 


269 


But that was impossible. He only asked to see 
her — once more. How he prayed that this might 
not be denied him. 

She was sitting in her boudoir at the front of the 
house. She was prostrated with grief and care. 
Suddenly she heard an automobile bell clang 
twice, sharply. She knew the signal. She flew 
to the window, — and then she saw him, — for the 
last time. He put the brake on the automobile 
and it slowly passed the house. He leaned far 
out from the covered hood, and with his soul in 
his face turned his longing gaze on her window. 

Their eyes met in one long, last look — and he 
was gone. 

Arthur and Luthie were to ride out at five 
o’clock. It was a dreary, wet day with falling 
rain and sleet. Arthur had told her that he was 
going. 

‘T will go with you,” she said quietly. 

“No, Luthie,” he said gently, “I am going on a 
long ride.” 

“Then we shall go together,” she said with a 
sad smile. 

She turned from him and went to her room. 
She made her toilet leisurely and carefully — as 
she always did. She felt better now. Even a 
little color crept into her pale cheeks. She dressed 
as for a bridal. Soon she was ready, and she 


270 


ALICIA 


crowned her toilet with a beautiful white hat. It 
was a delicate and dainty creation, and more sug- 
gestive of sunshine than a dismal, wet day of 
heavy clouds. They rode quietly to the suburbs 
of the city, far, far from the madding crowd; far 
from the city with all its strife — to the peace and 
quiet of the brown fields that lay about them. 
The fitful gusts of wind, wet with the heavy 
moisture of the darkening day, drenched their 
feverish spirits as with a soothing balm. For 
miles they rode slowly through the driving rain, 
under the lowering sky, with no sound breaking 
their solitude except the whirr of the wheels. 
Arthur put on the power, and they rode more 
swiftly. They quaffed the exhilarating air with 
deep enjoyment, as they ran along a lonely, 
deserted thoroughfare. It was bordered on one 
side by a deep precipice. The rain was beating 
down heavily now, and the pavement was wet and 
slippery. Suddenly Luthie tried to throw back 
the hood of the automobile. “I want to feel the 
rain on my face,’’ she said. Arthur momentarily 
removed his hand from the steering bar, and as he 
did so the wheels suddenly swerved, like a fiash, 
towards the gulf that lay at one side of the high- 
way. As the automobile sprang fiercely forward 
and made a mad rush for the bank, Arthur saw 
that there was but an instant between them and 


THE PROPHECY RECALLED 


271 


eternity. His splendid courage was with him to 
the last. He had but time for one glance at his 
wife’s white face; then he threw his arms about 
her to protect her; — and then they went down to 
death ! 

No word escaped his lips; — but a woman’s 
scream rose on the night air, which must have 
pierced the vault of heaven with its pain! 


272 


ALICIA 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

THE CLOSING SCENE. 

“Why, Silas, I do believe I heerd a bluebird in 
the orchard,” said Patience Craig, addressing her 
husband, and going to the open door, over the 
threshold of which there came the first sweet 
breath of the spring. 

“Shouldn’t wonder,” replied Silas, as he patted 
his own broad cheek with the baby’s tiny hand, 
while the little girl cooed and smiled in his arms. 

“The cowslips are in bloom down by the crik, 
an’ I heerd a robin on top of the big maple last 
evenin’. I guess spring is here.” 

Yes, spring had come again; come with its soft 
winds and gentle rains; with its sweetness and 
bloom; with its bird-songs and mellow skies; 
with rippling streams and bursting buds; with the 
grass growing green about the doorstep, and in 
the churchyard; ay, and with its quickening 
energies, there came to the heart a Longing of the 
Springtime. 

“Guess I’ll go down to the postoffice, an’ see if 
there’s any mail,” said Silas. “I didn’t stop for 
it when I came by the office. They hadn’t done 
sortin’ it, an' I didn’t wait.” 


THE CLOSING SCENE 


273 


“Oh, Silas, you was so anxious to see the baby. 
Do you know folks say that the stage gets here 
‘fore five every night now ?” 

“Oh pshaw,” said Silas, “guess their clocks are 
wrong.” 

“Well, they say they can’t set ’em by the stage 
any more.” 

“They won’t be behin’ time if they do,” said 
Silas, and taking his hat, and perching his baby 
on his broad shoulder he made his way out the 
gate, and down the main street of the village to 
the postoffice. Opening his box he found a letter 
addressed to him bearing the postmark of the City 
of the Lakes. The sight of the letter brought sad 
recollections to him. He received no letters from 
there now. Instinctively he knew from whom 
the letter came, and opening it his prediction was 
confirmed. Arriving home he announced to 
Patience the receipt of the letter. 

“From Alicia Blake?” she repeated with in- 
terest. “What does she say, poor dear ?” 

“She says she wants to see Portsmouth, and to 
visit Arthur’s grave, and Luthie’s. She writes 
that she wants to see us, too, and if convenient to 
us she will come next Saturday and spend Sunday 
with us.” 

“Write her to come, Silas, and tell her that we 
send our love to her, and that you will meet her at 


18 


274 


ALICIA 


Porter’s Falls on Saturday, and tell her she must 
make us a long visit, once she’s here.” 

And so Silas wrote the letter, with careful 
movements of the pen held tightly in his chubby 
fingers, with divers puckerings of the lips, and 
labored breathing; and in his frank, kindly way 
bade her come to them — to come and stay through- 
out the springtime — to breathe the salt breezes 
and drink deep of the quiet and peace of the little 
village by the sea — to rest there with them until 
the days of springtime should leap into the full 
depths of summer. 

And so the day came that brought Alicia to 
them. Silas knew her as she stepped from the 
train, clad in black, with a bunch of violets at her 
throat. Her sweet, delicate face was pale with 
suffering, and her beautiful eyes showed the 
marks of heavy grief. Her step had lost its firm- 
ness, and her slight little figure seemed as fragile 
as a lily stem. She raised her face expectantly 
to Silas as he approached her. 

“This is Mr. Silas Craig, I am quite sure, is it 
not ?” she said sweetly. 

“Yes,” he said simply, taking her little gloved 
hand in his own hearty grasp. 

“How did you know me ?’ he asked. 

She smiled. “Oh, I have heard of you so often, you 
know; it was not difficult for me to recognize you.” 


THE CLOSING SCENE 


275 


She insisted on riding with him on the front seat 
on the way over to the village, and he entertained 
her far more interestingly than he realized, as she 
listened eagerly to his narrative and comment, 
and noted with absorbed attention the places he 
pointed out, and the general scene as well. 

Patience welcomed her with a warmth of affec- 
tion that cheered her sad heart, and as she sat in 
the old-fashioned sitting room, so fresh and clean, 
with its pleasing air of comfort, with the lilac 
bloom at the window and the bird-song in the 
orchard, she studied Patience as she watched her 
busy steps while she put the last touches to the 
simple but generous repast with which the table 
was spread. She seemed the embodiment of all 
womanly virtues to Alicia as she moved the 
central figure of that pleasant, homely scene, the 
calm influence of which was already touching her 
troubled spirit with its peace. 

The evening meal was over when baby awoke 
where she slept, in an adjoining room. Silas 
went to her, and he brought the sweet baby girl 
and placed her in Alicia’s arms. 

“What a dear, beautiful child,” she said, as she 
caressed the little one. 

“What is the baby’s name ?” she asked. 

Silas hesitated, then speaking slowly said, 
“I kinder wanted to name the baby arter Patience, 


276 


ALICIA 


but she wuddent hear to it, and then — then — 
we fixed on a name that both on us had learned to 
love, — and we called her — Luthie.” 

Alicia bowed her head over the child and 
pressed her lips midst the soft silken locks of the 
little head. When she raised her face her eyes 
were moist with tears. 

“I — I — ’’ Silas stammered with choking voice, 
and taking his hat he abruptly left the room. 

“You mustn’t mind Silas,” Patience said in a 
tone of apology, “he’s tender-hearted. He’s 
wrapped up in little Luthie. I don’t know what 
he’d do if anything should happen to baby,” she 
continued tremulously. 

“God bless little Luthie, and protect her, and 
care for her,” Alicia prayed in a low voice. “And 
may He bless your kind hearts — always. I am 
so happy that you have named the baby after 
Luthie, and I pray that she may grow up to be as 
good and noble a woman as Luthie was.” 

And as she sat there the twilight shadows 
gathered in the room, and soon the baby slept 
again. And Silas returning, sat by the open door 
and listened to the murmur of their voices as 
Patience and Alicia talked in low tones, while the 
memories of other days gathered about him. 

And as Alicia went to her chamber Patience 
kissed her and said, “May I call you Alicia ?” 


THE CLOSING SCENE 


277 


“Yes, I wish you to,’’ she said. 

And long after the household slept, she sat by 
the open window of her room in the moonlight, 
while the stars looked down into her upturned 
face. 

The morrow dawned; and again it was Sunday 
morning in the village of Portsmouth. The 
church bell had not commenced to ring and the 
streets were deserted, while the customary Sab- 
bath quiet rested upon the place. Changes are 
few in those staid New England towns that count 
lightly a hundred years of existence, and Ports- 
mouth was much the same as it was when Arthur 
and Luthie departed for their new home, so many 
years ago. There were some changes, of course. 
Time leaves its imprint, in some fashion, after all, 
and sometimes deeply, ah, so deeply. 

The little cottage where Luthie lived was closed 
now, and had been for many a year. Ralph 
owned the place, but he had not visited it for 
years ; had never laid his eyes upon it since that 
day he sailed away with his ship, as the tide 
turned, never to return; neither would he rent or 
sell it — and it showed neglect. Nature is ever 
zealous to reclaim its own, and the dooryard was 
overgrown with weeds, and the flowers in the 
garden struggled with the long grass and brambles. 
The climbing rose over the doorway was dead; 


278 


ALICIA 


and the doorstep where Luthie used to sit with 
her book, had fallen away. 

The Pendleton home was also lonely and 
deserted. Its shutters were drawn and it looked 
drear and desolate. Captain Pendleton was 
dead. He had sailed his last voyage, and now 
was quietly resting in the harbor of the Blessed 
Isles, with anchor down in those still waters whose 
waves are hushed by the Voice of Peace. Mrs. 
Pendleton had gone, never to return. Captain 
Gray was dead. Arthur and Luthie slept in the 
village church-yard, side by side, where they had 
so often wandered, as little children, hand in 
hand. And finally after all their wanderings, 
they had come back to childhood’s home — 
together. 

And now, upon this quiet Sabbath morning, 
with all the beautiful influences of springtime 
falling about her, with Silas and Patience, Alicia 
walked through the silent streets, to the village 
graveyard. And they led her to the spot she 
sought, and drew aside, and left her there, alone. 
The hours passed and still she knelt there upon 
the grass, with her face hidden in her hands. 
Memory after memory came stealing to her heart, 
like a rush of waters, and submerged her with their 
feeling, till she felt herself sinking, sinking into 
the flood-tides of recollection that surged through 



While the stars looked down into her uj)turned face. 

Page 277 . 



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THE CLOSING SCENE 


279 


the secret recesses of her being — and then they 
swept her away — swept her away, on the swelling 
tide of springtime, from the Past to the Future. 

She felt the kind touch of Patience’s hand, and 
she raised her up, and they walked away together. 
And as they moved slowly along Alicia saw a tall 
marble shaft a short distance away, higher than 
any in the place, and she said, “That is Lucy’s 
grave 

“Yes,” said Silas, “and there’s Jim’s alongaside 
o’ Lucy’s.” 

“Arthur has told me,” she said, and they turned 
their steps toward the spot, and in a moment they 
stood by the shaft that bore the single name — 
Lucy. A small stone by its side marked the 
place where her lover slept. 

“This is Jim’s,” said Silas, indicating with his 
hand as he spoke. “Me an’ him was school boys 
together. Poor Jim.” 

And then as he looked at her with half-up- 
turned face, Alicia saw the tears in his eyes, and 
heard the tender note of pride in his voice, as he 
said softly, “He was onct Lootenent-Guvnor of 
Wyomin’.” 

And so I leave her with thee, gentle-hearted 
Silas, as you slowly walk along the close-cropped 
grass that borders many a spot where “heaves the 


280 


ALICIA 


turf” in the country graveyard. And I feel that a 
peace has come into her heart, and a faith, and a 
hope, that calms her soul, and that a hush rests 
upon her anxious spirit as she hears the soft notes 
of the Sabbath bell seeking her with its murmuring 
as it wanders among the gravestones to find her, 
and whisper to her, and comfort her — even as I 
would do — whilst the morning breeze creeps from 
stone to stone to touch her brow with its healing 
fingers. And so I hope that all the peace and 
faith and hope of all the world, and all the bless- 
ings of Heaven, may be with her always, never to 
leave her, to cheer her, to calm her, and console 
her. 

And you shall take her to the lighthouse, Silas, 
and show her where Luthie stood and saw the 
Albatross in the offing that memorable morning, 
when that weird bird of the sea with outstretched 
wings, flew into the harbor, blown by the winds 
of mystery and fate. And she shall stand with 
you beside the cottage porch where Luthie sat so 
often as a child with her cheek resting upon her 
hand, and you will tell her of her childhood in the 
simple language of the heart. 

And you shall tell her of Arthur, with many an 
incident of childish days. And all the spots made 
green in your memory by association with him, 
shall be visited again by you to point out to her 


THE CLOSING SCENE 


281 


where he had been. You shall show her where 
he gathered the first May fiowers of the freshening 
spring; and where the willows grew beside the 
river, to furnish whistles for his boyish lips. And 
you shall point out his desk in the little school- 
house, where you and Jim were school-boys 
together, and where his boyish hand had rudely 
traced the initials of his name in straggling letters, 
ARP, still plainly visible to her misty gaze. And 
all the haunts of his boyhood days, and the places 
of his maturer years, shall be Meccas of your 
ardent visitation. 

And she shall incline herself to thy soft-toned 
discourse with eager sympathy and calm control 
to the very last. And then you shall show her the 
long ashen oar, with its blue painted blade faded 
by the years, that Arthur rowed in the famous 
boat race, which he gave to you so lightly and you 
prized so highly, hanging on the side veranda of 
your home, up close beneath the rafters, safe from 
the wind and rain. And you shall take down the 
heavy oar from its fastenings, and when her little 
hands shall touch the handle of the oar where the 
passionate clasp of Arthur’s hands clung so 
bravely, and her eyes shall take quick notice of the 
dark stains where the brave blood leaped from his 
lips, you shall see her bow her head upon her hands 
as she clasps the oar, and tremble, ah, and tremble. 


282 


ALICIA 


And so I leave you, Silas. Leave you with fond 
remembrance of your gentle nature and simple 
naturalness, recalling how oft I have seen you 
sitting on the low bench beneath the old elm by 
the tavern there, with children playing about you, 
or sitting in your lap, or clambering up your broad 
back to rest upon your shoulders. And I recall 
how brave a figure you made to our boyish gaze 
as with grave demeanor and becoming dignity 
you drove your old stage coach to the tavern steps, 
with many a fine flourish, and consummate skill of 
the driver’s art, as we gathered about you in 
kindling pride. And how often have I watched 
Luthie’s old hound dozing in the shade of the elm 
with half-raised ear and slightly-opened eye, 
noting the slow progress of the hours through the 
long dreamy afternoons of summer; and I recall 
how, before we heard the wheels upon the bridge, 
his subtler senses would learn of your approach, 
and his brightening aspect announce your coming ; 
and I remember how, with slow pace, the faithful 
creature would stand beside the front wheel of 
the coach as you halted and with uplifted gaze 
would voice his welcome by the slight tremblings 
of his sensitive, sniffing nostrils, and the scarce 
perceptible movement of his slightly drooping 
tail. 

What wondrous journeys did we lads take in 


THE CLOSING SCENE 


283 


the capacious depths of your old yellow coach 
with its pungent smell of aged leather, when after 
your lesser day’s journey it reposed quietly in the 
high-ceilinged shed behind the inn! And what 
joy to sit upon the high front seat, and with the 
long reins, surreptitiously taken from the har- 
nesses trimly hanging from the hooks of the stable 
adjoining, fastened to the pole supported in a 
horizontal position by the neckyoke resting upon 
the ground, to drive over the hills and far away to 
the fond scenes of our boyish fancies ! And I used 
to look forward, while sitting there, to the distant 
journeyings I planned to take when I grew to 
man’s estate, and to the pleasure and pride I 
should have of returning some day to acquaint 
you with my wanderings which were to be of such 
vast distance and great importance, and inciden- 
tally to display all the wisdom I had acquired. 
Alas, for boyish dreams! My journeyings have 
scare been a stone’s throw from my threshold and 
my wisdom is all ungained. 

And Lieutenant-Governor Towles, I remem- 
ber you with clearest recollection. I remember 
the long procession to the graveyard and how we 
unthinking lads outstripped the cortege, and 
creeping through the fence and then along the path 
by the river, which we used to take to reach the 
swimming pool, and then up behind the church 


284 


ALICIA 


and to the spot where the fresh dug earth stopped 
our hurrying feet, as we paused by Lucy’s grave. 
It seemed so strange to hear the village choir singing 
there, and not to hear her voice and yours. I see 
you now standing a little apart from all the rest, 
with your face white as the marble tombstones 
about you, and your black hair all disheveled. 
And then in later days I have seen you sitting so 
often in your accustomed place at the end of the 
tavern porch that overlooks the sea, with your 
chair tilted back and your long legs crossed one 
upon the other and with one trouser leg caught 
upon your boot-strap ; and with face that indelibly 
impressed even my boyish senses with its sad- 
ness. And many a time I have seen my big 
Newfoundland dog that was ever at my heels, 
leave his place behind me with sidelong question- 
ing glances for my permission, and go softly to 
you, and lick your hand. 

I used to see you there as we lads often went 
around the end of the porch and along the side of 
the house to Patience’s kitchen window. Many 
a time I have stood knee deep in the rank growth 
of burdock leaves that grew beneath the window 
and tickled my bare legs as I stood there, and re- 
ceived from Patience’s kind hand the wondrous 
apple turnovers for which she had justly acquired 
fame. And I used to wonder if you knew how 


THE CLOSING SCENE 


285 


good they were, and thought it strange that since 
you were so near her window that you never 
went to get some for yourself. And I wondered 
if you should learn about them if you would marry 
Patience, and if you did so, if she would still give 
us of her store. You had a brave and noble heart 
to match your fine talents, Lieutenant-Governor 
Towles, and you deserved far better of Fate — far, 
far better, Jim. 

And gentle Luthie, pure in heart, you, too, de- 
served a kinder fate. I love best to think of you 
as I first saw you — a little girl upon the cottage 
porch with Ralph standing by your side, on the 
morning that the Albatross brought baby Arthur 
home. I love to think that you are still there 
with the red rose striving to reach the window 
of your peaceful little room, where you were wont 
to kneel and pray for the ships upon the sea. 

And its seems so pitiful to me that after all your 
prayers for the alien ships of your tender child- 
hood, — and ah, the sadness of it, — that when, 
amidst them all, the one ship that hailed from the 
port of thy inner heart’s affection struggled with 
the storm, your prayers for her were unavailing 
and she sank beneath the waves and carried with 
her not only all your hopes, wrecked and shattered, 
but took you down with her to perish in such 
utter, hopeless misery. And I wish that I could 


286 


ALICIA 


have saved you from all your sorrow, and that 
your life had been as gentle as your kindly spirit 
was. But it was not to be. 

And Ralph, like the rose that never reached the 
little window of Luthie’s room, but died and 
faded with its ardent longing in its red heart all 
unspent, you, too, had your ecstacy unrequited. 

And sailor that you were, your voyage on the 
sea of life was wrecked and wasted ere it had 
scarce begun. Ah, Ralph, poor lad, had you held 
the tiller of your life with steadier hand you might 
have sailed into the quiet harbor of your desires 
and found your haven in the fond love of your 
Lady Luthie, and cast you anchor, to forever 
safely hold you, in the depths of her devotion. 
You missed the entrance to the harbor by a hair’s- 
breadth, and went crashing on the rocks of deso- 
lation and disaster. But who shall say that Fate 
has not been kind to thee ? What greater boon can 
a sailor ask from destiny than to go down with his 
ship at sea ? What more than to sleep forever in 
the embrace of thy Lady Luthie in the caverns of 
the sea? 

I remember the morning when a lad, Ralph 
my school-mate, as I drove away with Silas, never 
to return, that just before we reached the bridge 
I turned and saw you standing in the village street, 
underneath the spreading elm near the tavern 


THE CLOSING SCENE 


287 


where we had so often played together, and you 
waved your hand to me in farewell; and then we 
drove upon the bridge, and on across the river. 

And thou, Alicia, it was thy destiny that Fate 
was to try to pick thy heart-strings with bloody 
fingers, and play a dirge to all thy hopes; to sound 
the knell to all thy longings; and to strike with 
ruthless hand the harmony of thy soul and strive 
to wreck and ruin all its melody and music, 
forever and forever. 

And it all comes to me again so often — even in 
my dreams — as recollection draws to view again 
the startling incidents of that tragic hour — 
comes to me again, and flits before me like a troop 
of shadowy spectres — to startle and affright me — 
and then there comes to me the remembrance of 
thy calm, sweet courage, thy wisdom, and the 
sublimity of thy spirit, Alicia — to remain with 
me — always. 


FINIS. 




■JUN IS 1904 






